


Horror At Desilu

by tprillahfiction



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek RPF, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Big Bang Challenge, Comedy, Ensemble Cast, Farce, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Halloween fics, Halloween horror - Freeform, Horror, Humor, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Character Undeath, Minor Character Death, RPF, Slash, Some Het, Star Trek Big Bang 2014, Temporary Character Death, Vampire!Bones, Vampires, explicit slash, original character vampires - Freeform, social smoking, star trek big bang, vampire fic, vampire!Spock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 64,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tprillahfiction/pseuds/tprillahfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise goes back in time where their orders are to observe the Sherman Oaks Galleria in Sherman Oaks, California in the early 1980's old Earth.  Kirk, Spock and McCoy beam down to the Galleria, which turns out to be a dead mall, inhabited by vampires.  They are attacked.  Kirk and Spock are killed.  McCoy survives but becomes a vampire.  He finds himself trapped back in time in the year 1967.  He discovers that there are actors who play them in a TV show called 'STAR TREK'.  Vampire!McCoy decides on a terrible plan, to turn those actors into a replacement Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock.</p><p>Humor.  Horror.  Vampire!Fic.<br/>Minor Character death.  Temporary Major Character death.  Some Vampire type violence.  Explicit Slash.  RPF.  Social smoking and drinking.  Some 1960's sexism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to get the actor's and other real people's personalities as close to them as I could. So some of their behaviors are real, some I made up. You can decide which. "The Trouble With Tribbles" was written by David Gerrold. Some of his original draft script appears here in an abridged form. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I make no money from this fic. If you try to sue, you can have my cats as payment (they eat a lot and don't let you pet them). I'm broke so don't bother. Any similarities to anybody living or dead is pure fiction and coincidence. 
> 
> This fic features some real people. Any real people depicted here are behaving in a fictional manner. Please note the pairings and the warnings. 
> 
> Thanks to my artist: nevadafighter  
> Link to art: http://stmattthew.deviantart.com/art/Don-t-Bill-514697818 
> 
> Written for Star Trek Big Bang 2014/15

“This is crazy,” Leonard McCoy says when he catches word of the captain’s plan. “Jim, slingshotting around the sun, risking all of our lives, traveling back in time just to visit the--the what, now?”

“The Sherman Oaks Galleria,” Spock supplies for the captain’s benefit.

Kirk lolls his head over at McCoy, grinning from ear to ear. “Yep.”

“What the devil is the ‘Sherman Oaks Galleria’?”

“Sherman Oaks,” Spock calls out, “is a neighborhood of the San Fernando Valley area region of the city of Los Angeles, California. Population 52,677, approximately. The neighborhood includes two city parks and a senior center, eight public and seven private schools. It is named after its founder: General Moses Hazeltine Sherman.”

“Moses Hazeltine Sherman, huh?”

“Affirmative.”

“Nice name,” Kirk says.

“Indeed.”

“But, what about the Galleria, Spock?” McCoy wants to know. “You forgot that part.” 

“The Galleria was a three tiered shopping mall in the heart of Sherman Oaks. Located on Ventura Boulevard, nestled against what was the San Diego Freeway.”

“They called it The ‘405’,’” Kirk corrects him. “I’ve seen pictures of the 405.” He shudders. “Not a very nice method of transport. Always congested with gas combustion cars. Moved so slow that its nickname was known as ‘the parking lot’.”

Spock continues on: “Affirmative. The 405’s congestion proved legendary, leading to jokes that the road was numbered the ‘405’ because it moved at four or five miles an hour and you needed four or five hours to get there.”

“That bad, huh?” McCoy says. “But tell me more about the Galleria.”

“The Galleria itself was used in the films of the era such as: ‘Valley Girl’, ‘Fast Times at Ridgemont High’, and ‘Chopping Mall’. It became the center of what was known as the ‘Valley Girl Craze’ illustrated in a song called ‘Valley Girl’ made popular by musician Frank Zappa’s daughter, Moon Unit Zappa--”

“Wait a minute, Spock,” McCoy says. “Frank Zappa named his daughter ‘Moon Unit’?”

“Affirmative.”

“And they were from Earth--when?”

“Circa 1982.”

McCoy tilts his head at that. “What the hell was ‘The Valley Girl Craze’? Spock you’re losing me.”

The Vulcan clears his throat. “The Valley Girl was a stereotype depicting a socioeconomic class of women and girls characterized by the colloquial California English dialect Valley Speak and vapid materialism. The term originally referred to an ever increasing swell of semi affluent and affluent middle class and upper middle class women and girls living in the early 1980‘s Los Angeles commuter towns of the San Fernando Valley, especially Sherman Oaks. This colloquial language included such terms as ‘like‘ used as an hedge. They often spoke using a high rising terminal.”

“A what?” McCoy says.

“High rising terminal.”

“What the hell is a high rising terminal?” McCoy demands. “I’m a doctor not a linguist.”

“A normal declarative sentence will appear interrogative,” Uhura tells him.

“What?”

She demonstrates for him, voicing a statement as if it was a question. 

“Well, that’s just bizarre,” McCoy says.

“Indeed,” Spock says. “Additionally, their speech was peppered with the slang phrases: ‘Fer sure‘, ‘whatever’, ‘Bag yer face’, ‘totally tubular’, ‘Barf me with a spoon’, ‘Gag me out’ to name a few examples.”

McCoy blinks at the first officer for a moment. “You’re shitting me. You’re totally putting me on, aren’t ya. This April Fools day? Antagonize the Chief Medical Officer day? All of this can’t be real.”

“It is...totally tubular,” Spock says dryly. 

Lieutenant Uhura giggles but says, “Oh, it’s only too real, Doctor.” 

McCoy turns and looks at her, then at Spock then at the captain. “Alright, alright, fine. You are serious. So the ancient kids had some kind of strange dialect. We all did that kinda thing when we were young, so that the ‘rents didn’t know what the hell we were talking about. But, why do we need to go back to this particular place?”

“Exploration, Bones,” Kirk tells him. “We have been ordered to observe the Valley Girl in her natural habitat.”

“Which was at--lemmie guess--The Sherman Oaks Galleria.”

“That’s right, Bones. This craze spread across the old United States and Canada, metamorphosing into a caricature of unapologetically spoiled young people more interested in personal appearance and social status. Valley speak influenced the old American dialect in such a way that still affects us to this day.”

“Really. Did Wikipedia tell you that?”

“No, Spock did. So not only do we get to observe the ‘Valley Girl’--” Kirk does air quotes, “--we can go shopping.”

“Shopping? Where?”

Kirk shakes his head at him. “At the Sherman Oaks Galleria.”

“Oh, Captain,” Yeoman Rand says, walking up with her PADD. “You have to bring me back some of those orange neon shoelaces! And some fingerless lace gloves. Those are totally awesome.” Uhura nods in agreement.

McCoy gives Rand and Uhura a glance then pauses a moment. “Jim, does anybody else wonder what the hell is so fine and dandy about the Sherman Oaks Galleria, or is it just me?”

“It’s just you, Bones. According to the library computer, the Sherman Oaks Galleria in the early 1980’s was an amazing, magical place.”

McCoy folds his arms. “That so, huh?”

*

“Martini shot, De,” Joe Pevney calls out. 

It must be 6pm, they have to wrap precisely at this hour. “Alright,” DeForest Kelley mumbles before he quickly gets back into character. The next take he goes up on his line. “Dammit.” 

Pevney yells out: “Cut!”. There’s several chortles from the catwalks. 

“All hell,” Pevney says, the disappointment evident in his face. He glances over at the contingent of imposing suits. “Can we go again? Just one more?”

“Sorry,” Gene Roddenberry says from his corner, where he always stands with Gene Coon and Herb Solow, arms folded, if they dare to run late on the studio floor. “That’s it. We’re wrapped.”

“S’alright, De, we’ll pick this up tomorrow,” Pevney says. 

The blonds are already being extinguished, the Fresnels shut off, the seniors, the juniors, the baby spots, the tweenies and the obie put away. The work lights come on. The boom mic is carried off. Script girl packs up. Chairs folded up. Men come out of hiding, from the catwalks and behind the flats. Crew never waste time after the Martini Shot, all the quicker to have that real Martini at the bar on the corner.

De steps off his marks, slinks over to the director. It all but kills him to know he’s just wasted both time and money. “Gee, I’m sorry, Joe, I--”

Pevney pats him on the back. “Don’t worry about it. Got tomorrow.”

But tomorrow will already be day seven and they’re behind schedule. 

De leaves the transporter room set, walks off the soundstage. He enters an alcove, stops over to the cage, hands his props over to Irving Feinberg to be checked in. 

“There’s a huge scratch on the tri-corder, De.” Feinberg tuts as he spins it around in his hands, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, no. Sorry about that, Irving. Today, just hasn’t been my day.”

He walks down the maze of hallways and into the make-up room. Bill Shatner and Leonard Nimoy are already in there. Leonard’s in his hot seat, getting his ears bobbed. De’s hand moves to the invisible zipper, unfastens it, but before he can get it all the way open there’s that horrible, tell tale noise. The ripping of fabric.

“Oh oh,” Leonard says. “De’s fucked his zipper up.”

“I did no such thing, Lenny.” De frowns into the mirror, fumbling with it, trying to get the teeth together to get the damned thing going again. It won’t budge. The zipper is indeed busted. “Son of a bitch.”

The make-up man, Fred Philips, ambles over, inspecting him. He grumbles before expertly ripping out the zipper so De can get out of the tunic. “I’ll make a note to wardrobe,” he says, cigarette in mouth, already writing it on a sheet of paper, ready to pin onto the costume. 

“How many has it been, this week, De, about three or is that number four?” Leonard asks.

“It’s been months since I popped a zipper.” And he had been damned proud of that record. The zippers on these costumes, the boots included which had been specially created for the show, are so fragile it’s become a running joke and a contest to see how long they can go to conserve a zipper. Wardrobe, as one can imagine, also appreciates the care the cast go to to conserve zippers. 

De pulls up his shirt, first the tunic, then the black tank top he is allowed to wear underneath if he’s not wearing the sickbay smock for a scene. Which is a little bit cooler, wearing the full undershirt under the smock always leaves him a sweaty mess by the end of the day. But his make-up is already sliding off anyway, leaving its calling card all over the black collar and the tank top. He dives a hand into the available box of baby wipes, dips it into the jar of cold cream, rubs it on his face to remove the pancake. 

Shatner inches closer, while removing his own make-up. “Look at that manly, hairy chest. That’s quite a carpet you got there, De.”

“Jealous?” De shoots back. He flexes a bicep. “Still got it. Nice huh?”

“If you say so.” Bill squints. “Do you... do you have a hickey on your neck, De? Who gave you that, huh?”

“I don’t have a goddamned hickey. Need your eyes checked.”

He feels the touch of warm hands, it’s Shatner caressing his shoulders, trying to tease him. “No, I’m absolutely certain that I see a hickey there. Hey Leonard?”

“Hmm?” Nimoy pops some gum into his mouth. “What?”

“Doesn’t it look like DeDe here got into a fight with a vacuum cleaner hose?”

De’s unfazed at this joker trying to rile him. He keeps up his removal of his pancake. “Well, what else am I supposed to do when Johnny Carson’s on?”

“That’s what you do during Carson? Fool around? You stud you. It’s always the quiet ones. Right, Leonard?”

“Hey, De, can I bum a smoke off of you?” Nimoy asks. 

“Yeah...you know where they are.”

“Thanks.”

De smiles at his own reflection. “Keep massaging my shoulders, Bill, you’re giving me a hard on.” 

As he’d hoped, those hands exit his skin like they’ve been burned. 

*

McCoy is already in bed by the time Spock enters their cabin. But it’s obvious as the Vulcan prepares for bed, sex is the last thing on his mind. 

Spock bats the doctor’s roving hands away. “Look.” He produces a tape. 

“What’s that, baby, porn?” McCoy says as he snuggles up to the Vulcan.

“The film: ‘Chopping Mall’,” Spock informs him. “I am required to watch it for research.”

“You are not.”

“I am.”

“What the devil for?”

“The film is one of three available aboard ship that features quite prominately the Sherman Oaks Galleria.”

“What was the other two choices?”

“‘Fast Times at Ridgemont High’ and ‘Valley Girl’.”

“And you chose ‘Chopping Mall’.”

“Indeed.”

McCoy thinks about that for a second. He wrinkles up his face. “So...Logically, wouldn’t ‘Valley Girl’ be more appropriate to view, since we are going to study the ‘Valley Girl?”

“It would indeed be logical.”

“Oh good, I’m glad. Then why aren’t we--”

“There is only one copy of the film and the captain has already laid claim to ‘Valley Girl’.”

“I see. But can’t the movie wait, Sweetheart? I’m a little--” McCoy reaches out to caress Spock’s tiny bare hip but the first officer darts away from his grasp.

“We begin our mission tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but that’s hours away.”

“Leonard,” comes the warning. 

McCoy backs down when he hears his first name. “Alright, alright, alright. Fine. Put it in.” McCoy chuckles at the suggestiveness of that. Spock merely flashes him a look. “I meant the movie. Put the movie in.”

“I know precisely what you meant.” 

“What?” McCoy sighs in frustration. He gets up and ambles into the bathroom for a pee. As he comes back out to the bed chamber, Spock’s in bed, the film is ready, waiting for him. “Want some popcorn?” McCoy asks.

“Vulcans do not eat popcorn.”

“The hell they don’t,” McCoy grumbles. “What you mean to say, is that Vulcans don’t MAKE popcorn. They force their husband do it, then they wind up eating it all.”

“Incorrect.”

“Bullshit.” McCoy works the controls of the food replicator. The popcorn is no ‘Jiffy-Pop’ but it would have to do. “What kinda Coke do ya want, Baby?”

“Altair water.”

McCoy wrinkles up his nose. “Water with popcorn? That’s some combination. Bleh.”

“Need I remind you, Beloved, that Vulcans do not eat popcorn.”

“Uh huh. Tell me another one.” McCoy orders the machine to give him a large 7-up. He’d have a Coke, but he doesn’t want the caffeine to keep him tossing and turning all night. He finally reaches the bed and hands Spock the bowl of popcorn. 

Spock selects a kernel and pops it into his mouth. McCoy glances over at him, smirks, but says nothing.

They watch the beginning of the film for several moments. “Oh my God, this is...horrible. This is worse than horrible, it’s a travesty, an insult to classic cinema,” McCoy says.

“The captain had indeed informed me that the acting is not one of the film’s strong points. The special effects, however, are not too unwatchable.”

“Great choice, Spock. Put me right to sleep.” McCoy feels his eyes grow heavy. He yawns, is about to close his eyes, until the first killing makes him practically jump right out of his skin. “The hell? What is that robot doing?”

“Protecting the mall.”

“By killing people? Did I just see it shoot them dead... with a laser beam?”

“The people are in the mall after hours,” Spock replies, unfazed at what’s unfolding on the screen.

“Yeah but--”

“Thank you, have a nice day,” the robot informs the victim in a cool, metallic tone.

He’s wide awake now.

*

He doesn’t normally like to drive past the speed limit, but he sails down Ventura Boulevard, hoping to get home in time for the show’s episode premiere of ‘Journey To Babel’. It’s a great episode and Carolyn will love it. He gets to break the fourth wall, get the last word in. He can’t wait for her to see that. Gene Roddenberry had invited him over to his place for a little viewing party, but quite frankly he’d much rather watch it at home.

He usually likes to keep one eye on the show and one eye on her reaction. She usually asks if still has this line or that line still memorized, but to be honest they’re out of his head as soon as they’ve wrapped and on to the next 10-15 pages. 

He shivers. He reaches over to turn on the heater, then lights up a cigarette with the car’s lighter. When he’d got into the car at seven, it was downright freezing, which is strange. The weather man on the radio this morning said it was supposed to be unseasonably 103 degrees all day and into the evening. He’s only seen the sun once today, hurrying to the commissary at lunch. He yawns. He’d been up since 4am. 

He flips on on the radio. His favorite song comes on: 'Night And Day' by Ol' Blue Eyes. He taps on the steering wheel in time to the music.

Almost home. As he crosses Sepulveda, right at the corner of the old, decrepit Sherman Oaks Galleria, there’s a flutter, then a thump and a crack against his windshield. 

He slams on his brakes. Enough to lock them up, making the car skid. He’s bracing for impact, praying he doesn’t slide into the telephone pole, but he comes to a stop. 

Something seems to have hit his windshield, an object, or he hit it. He shouldn’t have stopped so fast, shouldn’t have been going so fucking fast in the first place, luckily a car isn’t tailgating him, ready to plow into him and total his beloved Ford Thunderbird in his favorite color, green, but perish the thought, this thing is brand new. 

He pulls over to the side of the street to see what he’d hit. He flips on the hazard lights, opens the drivers side door, gets out of the car. 

The thing’s still attached to the windshield. A small black blob with wings. A bird? Aw, dammit. It’s dead. Then the show seeps into his brain a bit ‘He’s dead Jim’, before he stuffs the thought right down. 

His heart sinks seeing the poor, bloodied thing, the broken body--but on closer inspection, it’s not a bird after all. 

Wings but no feathers and a ugly, hideous face.

It’s a bat. 

Aw, even worse, poor little devil.


	2. Chapter 2

McCoy’s eyes are open long before the wake alarm. He glances over at the chrono. It's an hour before they need to get up. He can put the time to good use. He lays there in the darkness a moment, enjoying the sensation of Spock snuggled up against him, ass to ass. But he can sense the Vulcan isn't asleep.

He flips over, feels himself growing hard, lets his cock touch against Spock’s naked, smooth rear. He lets his hands wander over Spock's hairy chest, the slim belly, those hips. 

They haven't been married long, only a year, but it's been the best year of McCoy's life. Took them long enough to get together. All uncharacteristic awkwardness and shyness in the beginning. But they finally figured it out. What all the fighting and carping and teasing had been about. 

The bond between them is newer and not as strong as a longer term couple, these things take time to mature. It will eventually. But McCoy can feel Spock's need as strong as his own. 

Spock turns suddenly, flipping McCoy to his stomach. The Vulcan lubes up then takes him like he wants to be taken right now, this morning. Rough, hard. Gives him something to remember later on.

Isn't long until McCoy spurts over their bed covering. Seconds later Spock fills him with his seed.

"Oh..." McCoy gasps out.

*

In the middle of Frank Sinatra the music dissolves into a sputter of loud, screechy static. 

“What the hell?” De mutters.

He turns the dial, trying to get the AM station back. There's nothing. Not even newsradio on KABC. Nothing. No Spanish channels even. 

Maybe the huge antenna up on the Hollywood Hills went down. Or is it Burbank? 

 

*

McCoy exits the shower, singing: “Oh Mickey, you’re so fine, you’re so fine, you blow my mind, hey Mickey!” 

Spock in the middle of getting dressed in his uniform, turns and eyes him with an expression that says: ‘You have gone mad’. “Everything alright, Leonard?”

“Yeah, why? ‘Oh Mickey, you’re so fine you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey!”

“What is that?” Spock asks.

“It’s a song, you green blooded Vulcan. You sing it. It happens to be from the eighties. By Toni Basil.”

“Ah.”

McCoy drops his towel and dons his own uniform: Regulation underwear, trousers, undershirt and blue velour tunic. He sits down on their bunk to put on his socks and boots. Spock does the same. “Haven’t done much research, have you, Spock.”

“Only the film last night.”

“The bare minimum, huh?” 

Spock shrugs in response. "Are you going to pick up your towel?"

"Yes, Mother. I'm cleaning up after myself. See?" He gets up off the bed and does so with an exaggerated flourish. 

Spock nods at him. "Excellent." 

"You ready to go, Beloved?" McCoy asks him.

"Affirmative."

They exit their quarters and head into the lift. “You’re not really that interested in Earth of the 1980’s, are you?” McCoy asks him.

“We have our orders.”

“Spock,” McCoy warns. “Answer the question.”

Spock sighs. “To be honest, Dr. McCoy, slingshotting around the sun to visit Earth of the early 1980’s, to view a horde of screaming teenage Earth females with bizarre behavioral traits and language does not sound like an activity that I will enjoy.”

McCoy smirks at him. “Fer sure?”

*

He pulls into the Union 76 station on the corner of Ventura and Sherman Oaks Avenue right around the corner from the house. Only a few more moments to get home. But it’s better to get gas now, he’s running on fumes and the place won’t be open in the wee hours tomorrow morning.

The gas station attendant walks up to his window. “Fill her up, De?”

“Hi John, yeah, fill her up.” He hands over his Mastercharge card. The man slides the gas nozzle into the tank, then the credit card into the reader, slides it back and forth. Hands over the paper for him to sign. Then gives the receipt, and the card back. 

The attendant gets the window squeegee, dips it into the bucket. He stops short at the sight of the windshield. “Hit something, De?”

“A bat. Can you believe that?”

“Cracked your windshield.”

“Oh no, really?”

“Yeah.” The man points. “Right there.”

His pristine Thunderbird. Gonna have to take it to the Ford dealer next week, the first weekend off. Spend all saturday waiting for the damn thing to be fixed and Carolyn’s gonna gripe about the cost.

The attendant begins to wash the windows. De sits back and watches. There’s something oddly calming about having your windshield washed at the gas station. But, how in world would a bat crack his windshield? Must have been some hefty bat.

The man leans over into the driver’s side window. “Where’d you hit the bat?”

“Right there next to the Sherman Oaks Galleria.” He points. “Strange, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Well, there’s been some odd sightings over there at that old Galleria. Horrible bloodcurdling screams, strange odors, weird lights, bats flying around.”

“Gee, I wish they’d tear that old place down. Build something worthwhile.”

“Maybe they will, De, maybe they will.”

“Someday soon. Hopefully. City hasn’t even fixed the sidewalk yet, right near my driveway.”

“What the matter with it?”

“Got a huge crack.”

“That’s a shame.” The pump dings. The attendant pulls out the nozzle from the tank. “Okay all finished. You can be on your way.”

“Hey, is it alright if I use your restroom?” De asks. “I think it’s a good idea if I wash my hands. Even if I didn’t really touch it or anything, picked it up with an envelope, y’know,” he chuckles almost appologetically, “y’know, there might be germs or something...maybe....”

“Oh. You’re right. Thing didn’t bite you did it?”

“No, It was already dead by the time I got to it.”

“He’s dead, Jim?”

De laughs. “Yeah.”

“Well, then, my restroom is your restroom.” 

De gets out of the car, glances at that crack again. Dammit. 

There’s only cold water that will come out of the mens room faucet but it should be good enough till he gets home as long as he uses plenty of soap. He pauses a moment, mid wash, glances at himself in the tiny washroom mirror. In the sickly green crackly lightbulb his reflection looks like a zombie. He feels like one, too. 

He comes out, goes back to the car.

“Say De, is ‘Star Trek’ on tonight?” John asks.

“Sure is, 8pm. ‘Journey to Babel’.”

“I’ll be sure and watch it. We’re a Nielsen family.”

“That’s great! Need all the help we can get.” 

“I wiped off your steering wheel for ya. Probably a good idea if you get the wife to wipe down the interior, the cigarette lighter, with some rubbing alcohol.”

“Thanks, John.” De gets into the driver’s seat, starts up the car. Puts the transmission into drive.

“Oh, De, wait! Here, I almost forgot. Here’s your Blue Chip Stamps. We have a special, fill up today gets double.” John hands them over.

De grins. “Don’t wanna forget those, I’ll never hear the end of it!”

*

McCoy wishes slingshotting around the sun wasn’t possible, but it is. The technical term is ‘Gravity Assist’ and they’d used it once before, to travel back to the late 1960’s. This time the occasion seems more frivolous, unnecessary to him, another opportunity for things to go terribly wrong. However, orders are orders. The captain isn’t about to argue with Starfleet Command. 

Traveling at an extremely high warp towards a star, in which case they’d always used Sol, their own sun is, when you think about it, absolutely terrifying. Gravity pulls them to an even faster speed, they break away from the gravitational pull, creating a whiplash effect and transporting them through time. 

Easy right? And they--well, Spock--had to time it just right, or things could go wrong, terribly wrong. 

He opens his eyes, feels down at himself to make sure everything is in working order. He glances around the bridge, notices the crew waking up from unconsciousness. Everybody now seems alert. He writes a quick message to M’Benga on his PADD regarding any medical emergencies. None. They have made it, unscathed. So far they’re lucky. 

He realizes he’s been clutching for dear life onto the captain’s chair. 

Jim’s in the middle of issuing commands to the helm and then over at Spock. 

“Earth of the past,” Spock says in reply. 

“Precisely when, Mr. Spock? Were we successful?” Kirk replies.

“Unknown at this time.”

“Well, hell,” McCoy says, licking his lips. “Could be any damned time, couldn’t it? Could find ourselves in the damned dinosaur age, we have no control over this thing.”

“Doctor, I made precise calculations. We are, most likely, in the year 1982.”

McCoy squints at the viewscreen. “Are you sure? How do we tell?”

“Atmospheric emissions, carbon--”

“Oh...” McCoy calls back. “That’s uh...smog, right? Right, Jim?”

Jim grins. “Sure is, Bones.”

“But these people have had combustion engines, since...the 1900’s. Are you sure we’re in 1982, Spock?” McCoy asks. 

“There is no way to be absolutely certain of the precise date until we have beamed down, Doctor,” Spock replies. “However I am confident that we have appeared when we wish to be. The year 1982.”

"Alright, Gentlemen. Let's go."

Kirk, with Spock and McCoy following, exit the bridge and heads down to the quartermaster's office for the required 1980’s attire. The three wait politely as it’s punched into the computer. McCoy stifles a yawn with his fist. 

“Tired, Bones?” Jim asks.

“A little. We stayed up late with with that stupid movie you made us watch: ‘Chopping Mall’. It was... like... horrible. Ridiculous. The Sherman Oaks galleria was... like...totally guarded by murderous robots, who then told the victims to have a nice day after they killed them.”

Jim shrugs. “Well, at least they were polite.”

“The humans were inside the mall after hours,” Spock reminds McCoy.

“Dammit, Spock. Breaking into a mall doesn’t give a robot the right to shoot somebody with a laser beam. Totally.”

“Gentlemen, you’re debating the moral aspects of an 80’s B movie.”

The computer churns out their attire. The quartermaster hands it over. 

“Thank you, Mr. Meagher,” Kirk says.

“Interesting clothing, Captain,” the quartermaster replies. 

“Gag me with a spoon,” McCoy says, donning his. “I think my choice... is like... absolutely bitchin, if I might... like... say so myself. Except for these shoes. Barf me out. Where’s the socks?”

“No socks,” the quartermaster replies.

“Huh?”

“Indeed.” Spock dons his own attire.

“That’s what you’re wearing, Spock?” McCoy demands.

“Why not?”

McCoy shakes his head. “How bogus. Pink shirt with bra-eces."

"What'd you say, Bones?"

"Braces. Suspenders."

"You said it wierd," Kirk says. "A strange dipthong."

"I said it in 'Valley Speak', Jim."

"Oh. Look at Spock! How cute. Look at those shoes."

"I dunno." McCoy shrugs. "If that’s what they wore, then that’s what they...like... wore. You...like... gonna put a sweater on?”

Spock holds up a white one. "Affirmative."

Jim spins around, glances at himself in the mirror. “I look fantastic.”

“Hmm,” McCoy says. “Captain, do we have to...like...totally wear this gnarly crap?”

“This is appropriate for the time.”

“I dunno, but...like--”

“Bones why do you keep saying the word: ‘like’?”

“It’s how they used to talk. Right? You said so. I'm speaking Valley Speak, Jim. You know, the colloquial language of the time? Fer sure, I see it’s... like... another dude who’s done absolutely no research on the era. I thought you...like... watched ‘Valley Girl’?”

“No, I didn’t bother with that one. I saw: ‘Fast Times at Ridgemont High’. Interesting film: ‘Well, if you’re here and I’m here, isn’t it our time?’”

“Quite a lot of sexual activity in that film,” Spock notes.

"Um hum," Kirk replies.

McCoy’s glancing down at his feet. “My shoes hurt my feet. They totally hurt my feet. I’m...like... going to get some gnarly blisters. If we’re doing a bunch of walking around I need to...like... wear some socks. This is so bogus.”

“God,” Kirk replies, “when she gets out of the pool in that bikini--”

“Jim, my shoes hurt my fucking feet. I want to wear socks.”

“You can’t, Bones. They didn’t wear socks in that era.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever...like... heard in my entire life.”

“No it’s true. ‘Miami Vice’. No socks.”

“What the hell is ‘Miami Vice’?” They walk down the corridor and head into the lift. “Goddammit these things are hurting my feet. Totally, Jim. Totally. Totally, totally.”

“We heard you, Bones. We know.”

McCoy scrunches up his face. “Oh, Mickey you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey!” he sings out.

Spock rolls his eyes as Kirk asks: “Oh I get it, Toni Basil?”

“Oh Mickey, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey mickey!” McCoy sings again. “Oh Mickey, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind, hey Mickey!”

He keeps it up for long enough, repeating the same phrase, that Kirk finally sputters: “Bones. Enough. I think we get the message.”

“Can’t Jim, it’s an ear worm now. It’s...like...Looped in my goddamned head.”

“Finish the song,” Spock suggests. “That will clear it up.”

McCoy and Kirk both turn to the Vulcan in surprise. 

*

In Transporter Room A, Kirk orders: “Spock, get me a visual reading of the Sherman Oaks Galleria.” 

“Acknowledged.” Spock leans into the scanner and performs several maneuvers. He is silent for several moments. 

“Well?” Kirk asks in an impatient tone of voice.

Spock moves up and out of the scanner’s blue illumination. “Captain, the Sherman Oaks Galleria appears to be deserted. The exterior is dark. The parking lot is empty.”

“Empty? What’s the local time down there?”

“7:00pm. Pacific Time.”

“What time does the mall close?”

“Ten o’clock. Local time.”

McCoy shuffles his aching feet and plays with his skinny tie but says nothing. Something about this doesn’t seem right, but it’s probably just his own personal paranoia.

“Well,” Kirk replies. “Maybe it’s a slow night.”

“Perhaps, Captain.”


	3. Chapter 3

Cheers greets him at the door, a tiny, furry ball of excitement. He wishes he had that kind of energy right now. He leans down to scoop her up into his arms. She gives him kiss after tonguey doggy kiss. “Did you miss me, Sweetheart? Huh? I don’t think you did.”

“You home, De?” Carolyn’s voice rings out.

“No,” he calls back. “It’s an impostor. I got your husband locked in the trunk of his car.”

She enters the hallway, laughs as she gives him a swat on the arm. “Oh, you!” 

“Why don’t you greet me at the door, you damned dingy broad. Instead you slink in here, making an entrance like Greta Garbo fluffing her hair back: ‘Oh look, he’s home’. Why don’tcha greet me properly like Cheers does?”

“Wagging my tail?”

He blushes and smirks. “Well....”

“That’s her job as guard dog. I’m busy fixing your dinner!” 

“Okay, then, I forgive ya.” He leans over, dog in arms and kisses his wife. A peck first then more passionately, till the little bundle of fur squashed between them squirms and protests. “Somebody’s getting jealous.” 

“How was work today?”

“Hmmm, don’t ask. How was your day?”

“I went to Ralphs to pick up a couple things, then I did some calligraphy with the new pen you bought me.” 

“Oh, good. Do you like it?”

“Uh huh!” A timer dings. Carolyn inches out of his clutches. “Supper’s ready. Want a drink?”

He leans over to let the squirmy dog down to the floor. Cheers scampers off in search of her squeaky toy. “Well hell, you’re a woman after my own heart.” 

He goes into the bathroom, washes his hands again, then make his way over to the living room couch. He sits down, immediately relaxes, sinking down into it, lighting up another Marlboro and sucking on the cig like his life depends upon it, blowing out the smoke overhead. He should really go help her in the kitchen right now but he’s exhausted. She understands. 

“Carolyn, honey, d’you take Cheers out for a walk, or y’want me to?” he calls out to her anyway, at least trying to offer to do something.

“Already walked her.” 

“Alright, good. Just checking.” 

“I have some trash for you to take out later tonight!” 

“Alright, Honey.” Cheers jumps on the sofa next to him with her toy. He throws the toy to the edge of the living room, she chases after it, launching herself off the sofa and grabs it, brings it back to him. They repeat the action a few times. “Cheers, go turn on the television.” Cheers looks at him, tilts her head. “Daddy’s tired. What’s the matter? Silly Daddy has to do that one himself? Ahhhh.”

He gets up again, goes over to the television, flips it on then heads back to the couch, Cheers deposits herself in his lap again. The box takes a few moments to warm up but pretty soon the sounds of the Huntley/Brinkley report are audible before the picture is. Well the last ten minutes of it. Carolyn comes into the living room, hands him a glass of Vodka on the rocks. 

“Thanks, Sweetheart,” he says. “Hey guess what?”

“What?”

“I hit a bat on the way home.”

“A bat?” Carolyn’s face fell. “Oh, De. You didn’t! Poor little thing.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s terrible. Hope it’s not bad luck.”

“Where’d you hit it?”

“At the Galleria over yonder.” He points in the general direction.

“The Galleria?! What where you doing in there? Filming?”

“No not inside. On Sepulveda and Ventura, right next to it.”

“Were you driving like a maniac?”

“You mean like a lead foot, like you drive?”

“I don’t drive fast.”

“Yeah, not for Parnelli Jones.”

“You didn’t crack the windshield, did you, De?”

“How’d you know I cracked the windshield?”

“I didn’t. Oh De! You did? That’s gonna cost a pretty penny to replace it.”

“I know, I know. Dammit, I know.”

“Is there blood on the windshield?”

“Don’t worry, John the gas station guy cleaned that up for me. Got double Blue Chip Stamps today!”

Carolyn wrinkles up her nose, unimpressed. “You didn’t touch the bat did you?”

“I had to uh get it off the car--I used an old envelope from the glove compartment and I washed my hands. Hey, I got double blue chip stamps. Isn’t that great?”

“You can get rabies.”

“It didn’t bite me. It was already dead. He’s dead, Jim!”

“You wash ‘em good?” 

“I think I missed a couple spots.” He sets his cigarette down in the ashtray then gets up out of the sofa and proceeds to chase his lovely bride around the living room, holding up his hands and making loud monster noises to the soundtrack of the Huntley/Brinkley Report’s closing music and Cheers’ barking. 

“De!” she squeals. 

“Maybe it was a vampire that I hit. Don’t they turn into bats?”

“De! And here you were holding Cheers!”

He catches hold of her again. “Gotcha!” She squeals again.

“Are you sure you washed your hands good? Sang Happy Birthday?”

“Why do I have to sing Happy Birthday when I wash my hands?”

“Because that’s the length of time you need to wash ‘em, to make sure they’re clean.”

“I washed them. I washed them. Alright? Nobody’s getting rabies, but I might turn into a vampire, so so you know.” He leans over to bite on her neck before she screams yet again. “Knock it off, Honey, the neighbors are gonna think we’re having an orgy over here. Or somebody’s being murdered over here, but I prefer the orgy, myself. Well, between two of us, at least. Isn’t an orgy more than two? Like a whole bunch of people? Well?”

She doesn’t reply to that but moves out of his grasp and darts back into the kitchen. “Stop playing around. I gotta get your supper served up.”

“Hey, you know what?” he calls out to her. “I got double blue chip stamps today at the gas station. Just in case you were wondering.”

“I heard ya the first time!” she yells back.

* 

They materialize into pitch darkness. 

“Flashlight,” Kirk commands. Spock and McCoy reach into their respective tri-corders and pull out the necessary equipment. Spock hands an additional light over to the captain. 

“Spock.” Kirk’s voice is quiet, but seems to boom in the eerie quiet. “This is the famous Sherman Oaks Galleria, correct?”

Spock scans the area with his tri-corder, Kirk and McCoy giving him the needed illumination. “Affirmative. This is the precise coordinates.”

“This can't be it. This is odd. Damned odd. Fan out.”

McCoy moves his flashlight around, upwards and down. It is a mall, but it's decrepit. Deserted. Abandoned. Neon lights that once might have advertised the place are all burned out. Broken. The orange and brown bricked mall seems to rise up three stories. It looks to be served by several staircases and a huge glass elevator. The place did seem glorious...at one time. Stores line the the mall such as ‘The Gap’, ‘Judys’. There is an ‘Orange Julius’ which seemed to once be a concession stand, a ‘Pacific Theatres’ cinema. Everything appears to be boarded up. There appears to have been metal bars on several of the windows, but some have been violently torn out. Other windows are smashed, leaving glass pieces littering the brick. There’s trash strewn everywhere, discarded merchandise, broken furniture turned over, a scattering of squealing rats fighting over a shriveled up french fry. 

And there's an odd odor. Everywhere. Nauseatingly putrid. 

"What is that smell?" Kirk whispers, wrinkling up his nose.

"Smells like--" McCoy pauses. He spots something on the tile floor, gets down on one knee to examine the substance. He scans it with his tricorder. 

“Find something, Bones?”

"Blood."

"Blood?"

“Human blood, Jim. Splashed all over the place. Pools of it right there. There's brain matter, too.”

“Human blood and brain matter?” Kirk asks. “In a shopping mall? Was there some kind of a violent massacre here? That can’t be right. Isn’t this place supposed to be open for business?”

“According to the library computer the mall is vibrant during the 80‘s," Spock says. "This shopping center should not be in this state of urban decay.”

“Maybe this isn’t the 80’s after all,” McCoy tells him. “Place gives me the creeps. Resembles the pit of hell.”

“Doctor, the pit of hell does not exist.”

“How in the devil do you know, Spock?” McCoy sputters out. “If there was a pit of hell, this place is it. Sure doesn’t look like any mall I’d like to shop at. Wasn’t there a big earthquake here in the 80's? Maybe that just happened.” 

“The quake of which you speak will have occurred in the year 1994, which closed the Galleria for several weeks. However, the year must be 1982 at this precise point in time,” Spock says. “I performed all of the necessary calculations--”

“You must have made a goddamned error in those calculations!” McCoy snaps. 

Kirk holds up a hand. “Gentlemen. Never mind that. Lets take a good look around before we beam back to the ship. Something must have happened here. I want to find out precisely what.”

*

_“Shut up. Shut up!”_

_“I do believe the good doctor is enjoying this.”_

_“I said, ‘shut up’! Well, what do you know, I actually got the last word!”_

Carolyn cackles with glee as she watches. When the credits roll, she says: “You got to tell your captain to ‘shut up’?”

“Yeah! He deserved it, didn’t he?”

“Sure did!”

They’d already both squealed when his name came up as ‘also starring’ in the opening.

*

“Kirk to Enterprise. Kirk to Enterprise, come in, Enterprise.” Kirk turns the knob to boost the gain on the communicator. His voice echos. “Kirk to Enterprise.” 

There’s no response from the ship. 

“Tri-corder reading, Mr. Spock. Is the Enterprise still in orbit?”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

“Then why don’t they respond?”

“Unknown. Atmospheric interference or perhaps simple jamming.”

“This is twentieth century technology we’re talking about, Mr. Spock. They don’t have that capability.”

There's a whooshing noise, like a groaning, wind rushing. Coming from high up above them. 

"What is that?" McCoy wonders.

"I don't know," Kirk replies. "And I don't like the looks of this." 

Suddenly there’s a deafening flapping noise over their heads. They duck, then crouch down, remaining like that. 

"We have to get out of here," Kirk says. "Now. On the count of three. One, two--"

Another flapping noise overhead. 

Spock holds up his flashlight to reveal a small black creature hovering. It has a hideous face, ears and fangs. 

“A bat,” McCoy says.

"It's huge," Kirk replies, whipping around and ducking again. "But I suppose bats are not too uncommon in an abandoned shopping mall on Earth."

*

“This trash too, Honey?” De holds up the empty container before shoving it into the bag.

“Uh huh,” Carolyn says, drying a plate. 

He ties it up. “I better put a sweater on before I go out, it’s freezing out there.”

“I thought it was supposed to be 103 today. That’s what the weatherman said.”

“103 degrees doesn’t make any damned sense in October,” De tells her. “Weatherman was dead wrong, I’ll tell ya that.”

“This is the Valley, De. Wacko weather patterns."

“I suppose you're right.” Cheers follows him as he heads into the bedroom, grabs a sweater. He’s muttering to her as he walks: “Daddy has to get a sweater on, he doesn’t have any fur to keep him warm.” He returns to the kitchen, grabs the bag. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Carolyn sets down the plate. “I want to see the windshield.”

“Alright, Honey. Come on.”

*

The continuous flapping noises are amplified due to the confined space they’re in. 

Finally the bat flies off.

"Is it warning us?" McCoy wonders.

“Phaser’s at the ready. Set for stun.” 

They walk on and reach what appears to be an old style glass elevator. Kirk pushes the call button. It doesn’t operate.

"Spock, Bones. We're splitting up."

"I was afraid you'd say that," McCoy says.

"Mr. Spock, you explore the very top section.” Kirk points over at the staircase. “Bones, the second tier. Attempt communicator contact with the ship and each other, on three minute intervals. I’ll be on the first level investigating the food court. I thought I heard something over there.”

“Too bad it’s closed, right Jim?” McCoy cracks a feeble joke before Kirk disappears into the dark.

McCoy and Spock exchange a glance as they creep up the stairs. 

“I’m gonna ruin my neon green shirt,” McCoy whispers. “Still think I should have worn socks.”

They reach the landing of the second tier. McCoy feels a hand on his arm. He jumps before realizing it’s Spock. He reaches over and makes contact with those familiar warm, long fingers. 

“Be careful, Doctor,” Spock whispers. 

“I’ll yell if I need you,” McCoy says.

Spock ascends the stairs, away from him. The Vulcan’s footsteps grow fainter and fainter. 

McCoy finds himself alone now in the dark and quiet. It envelopes him like a blanket. His heart thumps hard in his chest, pounding in his ears. He walks on, jumping at every noise. 

There’s another flapping sound overheard. Another bat and another. Still another. The Galleria appears to be full of them. 

His hand tightens on his phaser.

 

*

He’s got the trash bag, Carolyn’s got the dog. They go through the kitchen to the attached garage. He opens up the metal garbage can, sets the bag in. 

“Tomorrow’s trash day, De.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” He sighs, opens the garage door. Carolyn’s looking at the windshield, tutting as picks up the can, carries it through the garage over to the curb before walking back to her. 

“That’s quite a crack, De.”

He squints at it. “Dammit. It’s worse than it looked before. Cracks don’t grow in windshields, do they?”

Carolyn shrugs. “You want to take my car to work tomorrow?”

“No, no, no. I can still see out of it to drive.”

“You sure, De?” 

“Yeah, Honey. You need your car.”

A howling wind suddenly blows into the garage, pushing them back a step with the force of it. Cheers barks hysterically. 

De hits the garage door button. The door slides down, hits the cement with a thud. “Let’s get back into the house.”

*

The second tier proves to be more of the same. Boarded up shops, with some of the wood violently torn off and thrown aside. Trash. Squealing rats. Flutter of wings. More pools of red blood. 

McCoy feels a rush of air at his feet. He shines his light to the left of him then at the floor. He backs up in surprise. 

There’s no guard rail and it’s a long way down to the bottom. He very nearly fell off the side. Hopefully Spock is alright above him. 

He flips open his communicator. “McCoy to Enterprise. Come in Enterprise.” Only static. “McCoy to Captain Kirk.” More static. “McCoy to Spock, come in, Spock.” 

Nothing. 

He closes the communicator and yells out: “Spock?!”

“Doctor!” Spock’s voice echos back faintly to his relief.

“Communications are out, Spock!” 

“Acknowledged!”

“Jim?” he yells out. “Jim? Captain Kirk?” He hears Spock call out for Jim, too. 

There’s a frantic yell for help. 

He’s never heard Jim scream like that before.


	4. Chapter 4

De squints in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush in mouth. He can see more bags under his eyes, looks really bad this evening. Worse than usual. 

He feels arms sliding around him, a pelvis pushing against him, he lurches forward to the sink. 

There’s a sultry voice in his ear. “You’ve still got some pancake on.”

He pulls out his toothbrush, aware he’s also got toothpaste smeared all over his lips. “Where?” he breathes out. 

She touches the side of his face. “Right there.”

“Hmmm, I thought I got it all. My eyes sure are tired. I’m almost seeing double.” He finishes brushing his teeth. Spits into the sink. Takes the washcloth and washes the toothpaste and rest of the make-up off. He never entirely gets it all off, sometimes he wakes up in the morning and finds eyeliner on his pillow. He glances again in the mirror. “Good enough.”

He spins around, kisses Carolyn with his freshly brushed teeth, before he hears the opening strains of the ‘Tonight Show’. He grabs her hand and heads for bed. 

*

McCoy’s races and stumbles down the stairs. “Jim? Jim?”

On the very last step his shoe makes contact with an object. He flips over it, lands on the other side, onto the cold, hard tile with an “oof!”. He loses his grip on his flashlight. It rolls away, out of reach. 

Luckily his tri-corder is still on his shoulder. It has a faint lamp. He swings it around and uses it to illuminate what he’s tripped over. 

It’s a body. 

Jim.

*

_“And now....here’s Johnny!”_

_“Oh by golly, with all that applause, maybe I should run for mayor! This is a good audience. A great audience. I love Los Angeles, I really do. Where else would you see old ladies applauding by slapping their bare midriffs with their rolled copy of ‘teenage nudist’? I almost didn’t get out here tonight, I uh...stopped to watch a Hollywood funeral procession. Now, I know that sounds callous, but uh...back east we seldom get to see a topless kazoo player riding a yak. You know I’m always kidding Forest Lawn, but that is a very unusual place, after I did a joke about them, the next day I got this very unusual phone call, true story, and you knew the guy worked for Forest Lawn, And the guy says, ‘Is this Johnny Carson’? and I said ‘yes’ and he said ‘you’ve been doing some material about Forest Lawn’ and I said, ‘yes’ and he said, ‘But we, will have the last laugh’._

They both chuckle at that. De reaches over to nudge Carolyn. “They named that place after me: ‘DeForest Lawn’.”

“Silly.”

*

He scans his captain with the tri-corder. Oh God. No. Jim is dead. 

Blood soaks the captain’s shirt and pants. He’s lying sprawled out on the cold tile, mouth frozen in an oval, in a small pool of blood under the head, a stream leaking into a gap in the title. Upon examination, Jim’s body proves completely exanguanted, via two deep red puncture wounds on the neck. 

McCoy sits back on his haunches, dips his head down. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Goddammit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. 

He feels around. Jim’s communicator, phaser are missing. 

“Spock?!” he calls out. He thought the Vulcan was right behind him. He could have sworn Spock was right behind him. 

He flips open his own communicator. “McCoy to Spock.” Static. “McCoy to Spock, come in, Spock. McCoy to Enterprise, come in Enterprise.” 

Nothing. 

He leans his head up, shrieks out at the top of his lungs: “SPOCK!!! SPOCK!!!” 

There’s no response.

“Spock,” he whispers. “Where are you?” 

Suddenly he feels a terrible pain in his chest, taking the air out of him. He gasps for a moment. He wants to roll up into a tight ball but there’s no time for this. It feels as if something, very suddenly, very violently has been cut out from his very soul. He begins to tremble. “Spock?” Spock warned him about this...what might happen if...is this what it feels like, when....?

The pain subsides but the anxiety within him doubles.

“Spock! Answer me!” He clambers to his feet, rushing to the staircase.

*

He wants to fool around because they haven’t in awhile and she’s got this pink lace nightie on and he reaches over for her and tries half heartedly when Dean Martin is on the tube, one of the ‘Tonight Show’ guests, looking very glamourous, but he’s tired. He kisses her a few times but stops. “I’m sorry, Honey.”

“It’s alright, De.”

“This weekend, I promise.”

He goes back to watching Dean Martin. His eyes grow heavier with each passing moment.

*

After a few moments of frantic searching up on the third level, then down on the second, right next to the boarded up Perry’s Pizza, McCoy sees something. 

He runs closer. 

It's Spock. Sprawled out on the tile floor. Limbs all askew. Hands balled up into tight fists. 

"Spock?" McCoy sinks down to his knees next to him. “Spock? Spock?” He touches the body. Still warm. But not breathing. "Spock?" He scans Spock. Tries to find a pulse. Nothing. He leans down, irrationally attempting to recistate Spock, just like he’d had the urge with Jim, but he knows it to be futile. He stops. Spock's been exanguinated, just like Jim. Two green puncture wounds at the neck. He can’t replace an entire body’s worth of blood. 

In the back of his mind he knew that he would get no response. He knew before he even made it here what he would find. “Spock. Spock.” He emits a small cry out. “No!”

There’s a trickle of green blood flowing from Spock’s mouth. McCoy reaches down with a finger, touches it. Spock’s unique biological make up didn’t save him this time. 

His beloved is dead. 

He looks up and around. Who did this? He glances back down.

Spock is also missing his phaser and communicator and tri-corder.

He breathes out a gutteral, broken, half sob, half sigh. He’s got to keep it togehter, find out who or what did this. Contact Scotty... 

He’s feeling for his communicator when suddenly, there's another flapping noise around him. He stands up, holding his phaser at the ready. 

The flapping circles his head. He spins around, aiming with his phaser. He presses the trigger. Nothing happens. He turns the stun setting to kill. Still nothing. 

The bat flies away. 

It's reckless, he'll be killed too, but he chases after the bat. It's long gone. He's got to find some answers in this place. 

There's more noise. What sounds like music. Almost like an...organ playing. 

"A pipe organ?" he whispers. "In a shopping mall?" 

He flashes the light around, sees nothing. He's backing up. He spins around and enters through a pair of open doors, which swooshed open for him just like the doors do on board the Enterprise. He realizes his mistake. That he's walked inside the glass elevator. But too late. He lunges out of it, but they close him in before he can escape.

He twirls around again and again. 

The walls are closing in on him, the fucking walls are closing in. No. Not really. They only feel like they are. It's his imagination. 

He has to get out of here, now. He tries to open the doors. He pushes the button, nothing happens. He can’t get out of here.

He pounds on the thick glass, trying to find an opening, anything, tries to desperately break, shatter the glass. Nothing. He tries to open up the control panel, rip out the controls to open those doors. 

There’s a ping. The tomb like box shudders and begins to rise. It's moving. Slowly. Up and up. It leaves the second floor. It continues on, up to the third level. 

The elevator pings again. The doors open.

A body, humanoid, lunges onto him, baring it’s fangs. He screams out then grapples with this creature, but it knocks him down. 

It’s overpowering him, try as he might to stop the fangs, the mouth advances, closer and closer. 

He holds up his phaser in a last ditch effort to defend himself but it’s knocked from his grasp. It clatters onto the floor, spins away.

The mouth gets closer and closer to his neck. He can’t stop it. No!

The fangs sink into him. He feels the prick of the sharp teeth, then agony as they penetrate his neck. 

He screams. 

*

“No! No! No! No, don’t!” His arms flail at the attacker. 

“De!” Carolyn calls out. “De, wake up! You’re having a nightmare.”

He sits up, breathing heavily. 

He feels her hands running down his back. “It’s okay, De. Just a dream.”

He gulps. He wipes his face with the back of his hand. He’s broken out into a cold sweat. “I dreamt that...somebody was strangling me or maybe biting me...I don’t know....”

“It’s alright now, De. You’re safe.”

He half laughs, half gasps. Hasn’t had a dream that bad in a long, long time. A nightmare. Vivid. Felt so damned real. He glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Stroke of midnight. 

“De, you want a glass of water?”

“I’ll get it, Honey, you go back to sleep.”

He glances over and realizes the television’s still on. Carolyn must have fell asleep too during Carson. The test pattern is on the screen. He doesn’t know why but that test pattern always gives him the creeps. 

He hurries over and shuts the thing off.


	5. Chapter 5

When McCoy opens his eyes his vision is blurry and hazy at first. There’s red around the peripheral. Things snap into focus. He’s out of the elevator, laying on the brick floor. Looking up there’s a skylight overhead, some of the panes are broken, some intact. The dark sky overhead is dotted with billions of stars. He’s in the middle of the mall, on some type of performance stage. 

He raises his head. The tile floor is filthy. He can see in here. Perfectly. Did someone turn the lights on?

Somebody's standing nearby. The humanoid that attacked him? No. Doesn't look like the same individual. The humanoid draws closer.

He watches, more curious than fearful.

The figure straddles him. He gets up onto his elbows, watching. The humanoid pushes him back down onto the brick, but not before leaning over and kissing him. 

His penis immediately grows hard. The humanoid slides against him, his cock is trapped in his trousers. He feels the weight of this thing on him, pressing on his cock, but he makes no effort to push this creature away. It keeps stimulating him until he comes in his underpants. He pants and grunts with the orgasm. He lays back on the filthy brick.

The humanoid gets off of him. Saunters away. He doesn't bother to watch where it goes. 

Eventually he rises onto his elbows once again, then with some effort he manages to get to his feet. 

He stumbles around at first. There's a pain at his neck. Oh how it aches. He reaches over to touch it. His neck is moist. He feels puncture wounds. He's been bitten. Oh yes. That's right. 

*

“ _Woof, woof, woof woof_!” Cheers keeps up her litany of barking. “WOOF! WOOF!” She gets up from her dog bed, runs into the living room. The barks grow frantic, changes to a higher pitch than usual. She comes back into the bedroom. "WOOF WOOF WOOF!"

“Cheers, shut up,” De mutters from his pillow. 

“Maybe there’s somebody out there,” Carolyn whispers.

“Fine, I’ll go look. Where’s the baseball bat?” He reaches under the bed, draws it out. “Cheers? What are you barking at, Honey? Something outside?” 

“Don’t go outside, De.”

“I won’t, I’ll just check the rest of the house.”

“Be careful.”

"I will."

*

McCoy hears music again. It seems to be calling him. Up to the third floor. 

His footsteps are loud as he climbs the stairs. His shoes no longer bother his feet. 

On the third tier, at an organ, sits the humanoid that attacked him. It stops playing when it sees him. It smiles, almost sweetly. It's got the bluest eyes he's ever seen. The humanoid is pale, almost pure white in complexion. 

"Hello," it says.

He grimaces, but says: "Hello," in response. 

"Are you hungry?" it asks. 

"Huh?" he asks. His jaw hurts when he speaks. His teeth throb.

"You must be hungry. Very hungry."

The pangs hit his stomach, it gnaws and churns, there's the tell tale growl. 

"You are hungry," it says.

"I must be," McCoy whispers.

"You have to feed."

"I what?"

The humanoid leans over to a nearby table, reaches into a nearby glass bowl, fishing out a lump of something. "Here."

"What is that?"

"Food."

"I'm not eating that. Doesn't look like any food I want to eat."

"It isn't much, just a taste, really, but you need it. Go on. Have some. It's good."

"Who are you?"

The humanoid doesn't answer, just holds out the food. It's dripping a liquid. Blood. "Come on," the humanoid says.

He takes a step forward. He tries to resist the pull, but the thing is right. He is hungry. Starving. He hesitates, but only a moment, then grabs the meat out of the humanoid's grasp. He devours it. 

"Good?" the humanoid asks. 

"Uh huh," McCoy says. He licks his fingers then looks at them. They're covered in blood. "What did I just eat," he asks. Terror hits him. His stomach recoils. "What did I just eat?"

"I'm afraid it isn't much. You'll need more, very soon. Believe me, the fresh ones are much better."

He glances over, spies his equipment on another random table. He rushes over, picks up his tri-corder, his medical kit, his type I phaser and his communicator. He holds up the phaser, takes aim at the humanoid. Nothing. 

He flips open his communicator, says much too calmly: “McCoy to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise.”

There’s no response. 

“You have a starship? Overhead?” The humanoid smiles, showing off bloody fangs. “I knew you were three were different to the rest of these pitiful humans. That copper based blood, amazing. Tasted like--”

With a roar McCoy lunges forward and tries desperately to grab at the creature, try to attack him/it whatever it is, kill it, rip it apart like the filthy murderer killed did Kirk and Spock. At point blank range he aims the phaser square at the humanoid's chest, presses the trigger. Again nothing. 

“Why can’t I kill you?” McCoy asks. “Why can’t I kill you?”

“You don’t want to kill one of your own kind, now do you?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not one of you.”

The humanoid comes closer then leans over and kisses him, much like the other one had done. He hopes, irrationally, that his humanoid might press him into a corner and frot him, just like the other had. The creature’s tongue slides into his mouth. It should be revolting but it isn't. The humanoid breaks the kiss with a soft smack and licks its lips with a jet black tongue. “Mmmm," it says. "You taste delicious.”

“Why didn’t you kill me, too?” he demands.

“You are already dead.”

“You lie. I’m not dead. I’m awake.” He feels his skin, his face, his arms. “You lie. I exist. I’m alive.”

“You exist but you are not alive. You are as I am now, changed. Now you hunger like we do. This is not life. It is un-life. I feel terribly for you, but I killed your friends, because I was starving. I had to. It will be a struggle for you, too. You will do the same as I do. You will kill to eat. You must feed.”

“What did you do to me?”

“I turned you into a vampire.”

McCoy shakes his head, the bites on his neck sting as he does so. “No! Vampires don’t exist. There’s no such thing! It’s just a myth! Folklore!”

There’s a noise. A shaking, rattling. The figure immediately glances away, then disappears, changes before McCoy’s very eyes into a bat, flies away, leaving him alone. 

It can’t be possible, vampires are not real. 

He opens up his communicator again. “McCoy to Enterprise.” 

He hears something behind him. He turns. It’s that thing, that humanoid. “Come with me.” It beckons with a single finger. 

He wants to come with this creature, join it in its evilness. Feed with them. He’s desperate to. He must be part of a group, but with everything he still has within him self, he fights against it. “No!”

“You cannot resist. You’re one of us now.”

He shakes his head. “I can and I will.” The creature touches his shoulder, but it feels more like it clasps him with claw like fingers. He feels a chill run through his entire body at the contact. He holds both hands out in front of himself as he backs up. “Stay the hell away from me.” He holds the phaser up again. Presses the trigger. Nothing.

He stumbles back, giving some distance between them, the creature does not follow.

McCoy’s feet give out from under him. He collapses onto the cold tile floor.

*

As De checks the living room it seems to be alright. The walls and floors tremble. Another earthquake. Kitchen's alright, nobody there, both bathrooms, the office. He feels silly carrying around a baseball bat for protection but that’s all they have, how is he gonna stand up to an attacker, maybe he should get a gun license, but for now this is it. He peers through the slats out of the window. It’s windy but seems to be nothing amiss. 

He comes back into the bedroom. “Aw, it's just an earthquake. Three pointer. That’s all. You know how it affects the animals.” He glances at the alarm clock on the bedside table. One thirty.

“Lord knows we have enough of those,” Carolyn says. 

He slides the baseball bat back to its hiding place, underneath the bed. “Cheers, come here girl.” She comes back, sits down in her doggie bed. “That’s a good guard dog. You a good guard dog?”

Cheers immediately jumps up into their bed. “No, you gotta stay in your own bed, honey. Let daddy get some beauty sleep.”

But Cheers will not budge. 

“Alright fine. Silly doggie. What’s the matter, y’scared? You’re supposed to be protecting me, not the other way around.”

*

McCoy finally has the strength to get his feet under him and stand up. The humanoid--can’t be a vampire, there’s no such thing--appears to be long gone. 

First thing he does is scan himself with his type II medical scanner to check for injuries. 

His life signs don’t register. 

“Damned thing, giving me a fright that’s all!” He bangs it on his hip then tries it again. Nothing. He holds up his tri-corder, scans himself with that. It registers him as an inanimate object but not a living being. Meaning he has mass but there might as well be a severed tree stump standing here or a lump of steak. 

He scans the immediately surroundings, the whistle is loud in the quiet. Jim and Spock’s bodies show up on scan.

He makes his way back to Jim, who’s closest.

Jim is still sprawled out, his face darkened, body completely emptied of blood. Nothing has changed from before. He’s dead. He cannot believe it, but his captain is dead. 

He kneels down, finds a cloth in his medical kit. He covers Jim’s face. 

As he’s squatting down, the strong odor of blood hits him. Something is different. Changed. The odor of blood smells... delectable. He licks his lips, wonders what it would be like to taste it. Lick it up. Drink it. Jim’s blood. 

His chest heaves with disgust at his own thoughts. He cannot be craving blood. Cannot have suddenly developed an appetite for flesh. Vampires like flesh. But he’s not a vampire. Vampires do not exist, they cannot exist, it’s impossible. But yet, that humanoid killed Jim Kirk, sucked the very life force out of him. And he himself does not show up on a scan, yet he is moving, talking, existing.

The odor of Jim’s blood is stirring up his stomach, it begins to growl, he feels the stab of hunger pangs. He wants...he wants that blood. 

No. Goddammit no.

He stands up. Flips open his communicator. Begs, pleads: “McCoy to Enterprise, please come in. Enterprise!”

He pops the communicator closed and with a sinking feeling he places it back on his hip. 

He is ravenous... but not for that stuff Humans must consume. He wants none of that any longer and the thought of what they eat now disgusts him. 

He wants blood. There’s a fresh hunting ground on the Enterprise. Lots of nice fresh flesh to eat and blood to drink up there. If he can only get himself beamed aboard he could feed. He closes his eyes. He stuffs that thought right down. 

Perhaps it is better if he can’t contact the ship, not until he can confirm was has actually happened to him, and to better guard against any alien intruders--that’s what the entity is, it has to be, an alien, attempting to harm this innocent Earth people of the past. And as for him right now, he’s stranded.

Somehow--he doesn’t know how--he must defeat the alien before they do more harm to these people. 

He picks up Kirk’s limp body, carries him over to Spock. He lays the captain down and goes over to the Vulcan. He kneels down, cradles Spock’s head. 

“Beloved,” he says, a tear rolling down his face. “Spock,” he wails, softly. “Spock.”

*

McCoy is able to find an exit point out of the Galleria, locating a bit of ground outside near the vast, empty parking lot and an elevated freeway to bury both Jim and Spock. 

He stands at their graves, at attention, tries to find the appropriate words of honor. 

He flips open his communicator, tries to contact the ship once again. But there is no answer. Tri-corder scan shows the ship is still in orbit. Why can’t he contact them? Maybe they’re all dead up there, too. 

He stares up at the sky.

“Hold it, right there.” There’s a bright light blinding him, causing searing, agonizing pain in his eyes. He dips his head. A voice calls out: “Hands up.”

It's an old Earth policeman. He obeys.

“Jesus!” the cop says, eyes wide. “What have you been up to?”

McCoy follows the cop’s horrified gaze. His arms are full of dried blood. His shirt is stained, also with blood and ripped to shreds. “Nothing in particular,” he tells the policeman. 

The cop gets closer. Has a gun trained on him. “Wait a minute. I know you.” The Human snaps his fingers. “My kids watch that show...Star Trek. You’re...DeForest Kelley aren’t you.”

“Who?” McCoy asks.

“Wait till the guys downtown find out about this. Got a real movie star serial killer in our clutches. Hands behind your back.”

The cop draws closer and closer. 

McCoy smells blood, coursing though the Human's veins. Delicious, fresh, iron rich blood. He’s so hungry. Just a little blood, that’s all he needs. 

Smells so good.


	6. Chapter 6

McCoy lolls his head over. He’s lying on the ground. Out in the parking lot. It's still dark outside.

The policeman is now sprawled out on the ground next to him, in a pool of blood. There’s a gaping, exposed wound at the man’s neck. 

The man is dead. 

“Oh dear, God, no,” McCoy whispers. Did he do this? He reaches to wipe his mouth, his hand comes away full of fresh bright blood. 

He couldn’t have done this. He’s no murderer. He’s a doctor, sworn to heal not kill. But he feels oddly full and satiated now, doesn’t have those terrible hunger pangs right now. He tastes iron. The memory slams into him like a car hitting a brick wall.

He did it. He killed the policeman. Drank the man’s--

He retches at the thought.

After a few moments, he manages to compose himself. He does a phaser check. He aims it at policeman. The body disappears in a flash of white. Funny, the phaser is perfectly operational now. How convenient. 

He accesses the library computer on the tricorder. He is definitely in Sherman Oaks, but when? What year? And what happened to the Galleria? Why is it a dead mall? No data available. 

He looks up vampirism, porphiria. He might have contracted the virus from the alien entity, but that doesn’t explain why his vitals won’t show up on the scan. 

First of all, he needs to get moving. Get away from this place. He eyes the police car. The lamp is still on, the door is open. He looks down at the splatters of blood on his clothing. He removes his shirt, leaving the black undershirt on. He shoves his shirt under his arm. 

He shuts off the policeman’s lamp. He walks away, hears the police radio crackling as he leaves it behind. Should have disabled it. 

Under cover of darkness, he stumbles down Ventura Boulevard. He walks underneath the freeway overpass. Must be the 405 Jim had mentioned. No cars, area seems deserted. He quickly runs across Ventura to get onto the south side. 

He stops at what appears to be a petroleum fueling station for motor vehicles on the corner of Ventura Boulevard and Sherman Oaks Avenue. 

There’s a men’s restroom in the back, away from the pumps, ‘Gentlemen’ marked on the door, but at this early hour it’s locked. He kicks in the door, forcing his way in. A dog barks at the noise, but nobody confronts him. He shuts the bathroom door behind him. Turns on the light. 

He’s covered in blood. In his hair. It's drying on his skin. It cracks as he moves his hand. Itches. 

He looks at himself in the mirror. There’s no reflection. 

There’s got to be a logical, rational explanation. The mirror is defective. A trick mirror. That must be it.

He cleans himself up as best he can with the soap provided. The water is cold but it feels good. 

His teeth are throbbing again. He can't stand it. He uses his thumbnail to pick at his insisors. One of them peels off. He gasps. He feels with his tongue. The insisor is now sharp. 

"Eeeeheehelelehehehhhhh!" he screeches out. A dog barks in the distance. He sags against the wall. Sobbing.

 

*

"Woof, woof, woof woof!" Cheers barks again. 

De cracks his eyes open. One half hour till he needs to get up. He throws his pillow onto the floor. 

"Dammit," he whispers.

*

McCoy exits the bathroom and makes his way down Sherman Oaks Avenue. No sidewalks, the grass extends right to the curb, he notes with annoyance. Obviously not designed for foot traffic. He is forced to walk out into the street. 

He passes a row of shops and he has to admit that he’s feeling somewhat better now that’s he’s fed on that policeman. He’s satiated for now. It’s something he can accept. This change within himself. The idea of it was horrifiying but now...things are becoming more and more...normal. It felt so right, so good to drink the poor wretch’s blood and consume a decent amount of the raw flesh. The flesh is merely the ghastly appetizer, it’s blood--plasma, that seems to sustain him. 

He hopes that he hasn’t altered history too badly by his actions. But history already seems to have been tampered with by the odd state of the Galleria, which the faulty tri-corder still insists is a vibrant mall. Maybe the humanoid tampered with it, but somehow he doesn't think so. 

This has to be the wrong year. Can't be 1982. Something doesn't seem right. 

One of the shops on Sherman Oaks Avenue is an RCA repair shop. In the window there is a wall of boxes showing moving pictures on it. Ah, must be an old style television set. The news is on, morning news. Shows the time as 4am. Good morning Los Angeles it’s time for a brand new day. He watches a few moments, sees the man on the screen, the newscast. No local news, just national: ' _U.S. Troops in 'Vietnam approach 500,000'. 'Mickey Mantle hits his 500th home run'. 'The Beatles Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band album is released.' 'Summer of Love'_. When did these events in history happen? He checks the tri-corder. Circa 1967. That can’t be right. 

So they were twenty years off. But, even if that's correct, how would the Galleria be this decrepit this early? 

The next news story shows something interesting on the crackly black and white screen. Images of them: Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy. Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, Scotty. The Enterprise. 

What the devil? Oh no. 

“They know we’re here,” he whispers. The Earthlings know they’re orbiting their planet. The Enterprise is in terrible danger. They’ve been spotted. Only a matter of time before the old US military shows up. But maybe it’s better this way. He’s a danger...to Earth...to the Enterprise.

The man on the screen then says something downright peculiar: “NBC showed its premiere episode of ‘Journey To Babel’ last night of the new season of the color television show: Star Trek, starring William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy and DeForest Kelley.” 

He raises an eyebrow at that. The news is describing these people as actors, stars of this ‘color Television show’. There is Captain Kirk being interviewed. Spock being interviewed while smiling from ear to ear. Smiling?! Himself being interviewed. But the guy’s mannerisms are different, how he smiles, he’s softer spoken. The man is a doppleganger. There is an actor that looks exactly like him, sounds exactly like him, in a show that looks exactly like their enterprise. So it’s only...a Television show. That’s not the real Enterprise at all. 

His mouth drops a few centimeters as he continues to watch this display.

Suddenly an idea, a completely horrible, terrible idea creeps into his mind--he doesn’t know where this evilness originates from but there it is all the same. If he is what the entity says he is, he now has the power to do horrible, unspeakable acts. 

Those actors. They can be of use to him.

No, this a bad idea, a terrible idea. He cannot do this to these people, he has no right-- but yet his irrational mind, the mind of the hunter is taking over, forcing him to think of these things, he can do this-- 

His hands move almost of their own accord across the controls of the tri-corder yet again. He looks up the television show: “Star Trek”. 

Sure enough, the actors playing Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy do in fact exist. He marvels at how identical everyone is and this ship, ‘fascinating’ as his beloved would have said. 

And Spock. Is that really a human male wearing make-up? As Spock would say: ‘Fascinating’. 

He next brings up the image of Dr. McCoy and the actor playing him: DeForest Kelley. Gives out the guy’s home address. Kelley lives in Sherman Oaks. 15463 Greenleaf Street. He wonders how far away this house is. Could he make it there on foot? 

Oh. He has a plan alright and it’s looking better and better all the time. 

According to the tricorder, from this point, DeForest Kelley lives less than two minutes walk away. 

McCoy breaks out into a sprint. 

*

Cheers barks her head off again right before the alarm clock shrieks at him.

He leans over to shut it off. No snooze allowed today, gotta get up at 4am, to make that 6am call time, his fault for screwing up yesterday. They start shooting at 7 today. 

“Cheers! Hush!” De’s voice is hoarse, he clears his throat. Throat is killing him. Hope he’s not getting a damned cold. Probably is, with this little amount of sleep he’s been getting lately. Maybe some honey tea will make him feel better, sooth things for awhile. Carolyn’s still asleep, don’t want to wake her up.

He gets out of bed, mumbling his lines for the pages they’re fixing to shoot today. Minds all in a jumble, he’s exhausted and thanks to Cheers barking her fool head off all night long and that damned nightmare he got little to no sleep. He heads into the kitchen, flips on the light, turns on the coffeepot. It begins its thrumming and buzzing. 

He hears the morning paper hit the door. 

He itches the stubble on his face as he heads back to the bedroom for his robe, slipping it on over his pyjamas. 

He opens up the front door and the screen, leans out to stare into the darkness. It’s freezing out there. 

Cheers barks again, goes around his legs, darts out the door. “Cheers! Get back in here, I’ll walk you in a little bit!”

She scoots to the edge of the front lawn, inching her way to the curb, keeping up her frantic barking. She’ll be out in the street if he doesn’t do something fast.

“Cheers,” he hisses. “Get in the house! Don’t make me come out there and herd you in! Cheers!”

She refuses to budge. 

He curses as he leaves the door. He stomps across the lawn after his silly dog. “Cheers, stop your damned barking, there’s nothing out there--” 

He screams.


	7. Chapter 7

The porch light flicks on, illuminating the darkness. A woman leans her head out of the door. “De? You out here? I heard somebody scream. De?”

McCoy crosses the lawn, walks up the driveway to the sidewalk, up to the porch. He stands there, on the concrete step, staring at her. 

“De?” the woman asks. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” McCoy replies. “Absolutely fine.”

“What were you doing out there?” 

McCoy holds up the LA Times. “Getting the newspaper.” He flips it over, glances at the date. October 29, 1967. He frowns.

“Where’s Cheers?” the woman asks. 

He looks up. “Who?”

“The dog. Are you sure you’re alright, De? You don’t look so good. Your eyes are...bloodshot.”

“I’m fine. I don’t know where the dog is.” He holds up his hands. 

“De, you’re covered in blood. Your clothes... Your hair... What happened to you? Why are you dressed like that? Are you bleeding?” 

“I fell down. I must have hurt myself. When I was...getting the newspaper.”

“Well, heavens, get in the house, it’s freezing out here. You’re gonna catch your death. Have you even taken a shower yet?”

McCoy shakes his head. “No.” He continues to stand there.

“De!”

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you gonna come into the house?”

“Are you inviting me inside your abode?” He can't come in, unless she invites him. Those are the rules. He knows that.

“What? Of course I am, this your house, De!” 

McCoy licks his lips. “I can come in?”

“Yes! Don’t stand there! Come in! Take a shower, my god, you smell horrible, what have you been doing?”

McCoy comes up the steps, moves into the house past the woman. “Getting the newspaper.”

“What’d you do, fight a damned tiger to get it?”

“No.”

“Hmph. I’ll go look for Cheers,” the woman says. 

“Alright, you do that. The dog couldn’t have gotten far.”

“I sure hope not.”

*

McCoy stands under the water spray, letting the warmth cascade down his neck and shoulders. They don’t have water showers like this on the Enterprise, and he wishes he could take the time to really enjoy it, but now isn’t the time. 

He runs his tongue along his fangs--his mouth knows this is unusual and those animal incisors shouldn’t be so sharp. 

He steps out, finally clean again. He towels himself off. He glances over at his filthy shoes, trousers, underwear and green shirt on the bathroom floor. He glances around the bathroom to find a place to hide them. Clothes look exactly like he’s brutally murdered someone, which he has. He settles on an obviously seldom used bottom drawer, stuffs it all inside. 

He wraps the towel around his waist. He heads to the man’s closet, selects a pair of pants, a shirt, a pair of boxer shorts, socks and shoes in what appears to be the style appropriate for the era. As he’s donning everything, he notices the man’s wallet on the end table. He picks it up and opens it. California drivers license, SAG card, insurance card, pictures of the dog and the woman. He pulls out the picture, looks at the back. Carolyn. The woman’s name is Carolyn. 

He glances up as she enters the bedroom. 

“I found her,” Carolyn says.

“Who?”

“Cheers. She had blood on her fur. Know anything about that?”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Are you alright, De? Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m not hurt. I’m fine,” he says, back to her, continuing to flip through the wallet. They’re using money. He has no idea what is what, what the denominations are. There’s twenty dollars here. No idea how much things should cost. 

“Where’d all the blood come from, De?”

“What blood?”

She huffs but doesn’t continue on about it. “How about a cup of coffee?”

“No, Thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look exhausted. Pale. Like something the cat drug in.”

“I said, I’m fine!” he snaps.

“Do you want a cigarette? Maybe that’ll perk you up.”

He barks out a harsh laugh as he continues rifling through the man’s possessions. “About time I quit smoking, huh?” 

“Alright, alright, no need to get testy. I’m just worried about you.” Carolyn finally slinks off to another part of the house. 

He finds the man’s keys, been a long time since he’s driven a gas combustion automobile, he had an antique Mustang but that was in his twenties-- but it’s like riding a bike, you don’t forget something like that. He’s got his tricorder and communicator hidden in the rose bushes in the front yard, he’ll pick that up on the way out. 

He makes his way to the living room. Carolyn and the dog are sitting there on the couch. The dog eyes him, periodically growling under her breath. 

“What’s wrong with Cheers, De?” Carolyn asks. 

“I dunno,” McCoy replies. 

Carolyn gets up from the couch. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look like a zombie.”

She gets closer to him, slides her arms around his waist. He circles his own around hers, like her husband would probably, so it’s necessary, to not arouse suspicion. In this closeness, he can smell her and the odor is delicious. The blood coursing though her veins and arteries, her heart, pumping, he can hear it, the pulse, the carotid, all pumping that glorious fluid.

“Mmmm, you smell so good,” he tells her.

It’s tempting right now to lean over, lick her neck and shoulder and then bite down hard, take her, pierce her with his fangs, suck and drink up that beautiful, luscious blood flowing through her body, the thick fluid would taste delightful, edifying. 

He closes his eyes. The temptation is making him dizzy, the heady feeling of want. He needs it so bad. His stomach is growling. She’s making his mouth water. He opens his eyes.

“Maybe it’s my Chanel No. 5 perfume that you bought me,” she says.

He takes another long, deep sniff of her. “Maybe.” Mmmm. One little bite. He’s so hungry. He licks his lips. 

He pushes her away. 

“De, you’re not yourself,” she says.

“I know,” he says. “Just...Give me some space. I’m going away...I should... be home late.”

“Sure,” she says, her eyes steeling, her attitude seems to harden. She holds up the pages to something. “Here. Don’t forget this.”

He takes it from her. Opens it up to the front page. Property of Desilu Studios. Ah, a filming script, marked up in what’s obviously the actor’s handwriting. “I work at Desilu,” he whispers.

“Yes, you’ve been doing the show for over a year,” Carolyn says. “You and Bill Shatner and Lenny Nimoy, remember?”

Nimoy...the guy who plays Spock.

He smiles. “I know, Sweetheart. I know. I know where I work.”

“De, stop staring at me like that. You’re giving me the goddamned creeps.”

“Sorry.” 

“Give me a kiss and get out of here. You’re gonna be late.” She leans over. He meets her lips. His tongue runs along his own sharp teeth. 

So tempting.

Cheers growls.

*

The car, a dark green Ford Thunderbird, is easy enough to drive. Automatic transmission. Thing is as wide as a damned boat, but it’s smooth. 

He just needs to check the tri-corder to figure out the route to the studio. 

He hits Ventura Boulevard. Sun’s coming up, peeking through. In the light, his eyes, they burn. Ow. He frantically fumbles for the guy’s sunglasses, finally locating them on the window shade. He slides them on. Much better. 

Down Ventura to Beverly Glen, which takes him over the Hollywood Hills and to Melrose. Hardly a lick of traffic at this hour. Los Angeles in the 60’s. Dirty, gritty, nasty looking. Glad he doesn’t live here permanently. But a pang hits him, he just might be stuck here for the rest of his...for eternity. But Jim and Spock...they’ll know what to do. When they’re revived. 

Behind the wheel he chuckles to himself. “When they’re revived,” he says out loud. “When they’re revived.” He cannot stop grinning at the thought.

He passes the RKO Planet at the corner and arrives at Desilu Studios. He turns onto Bronson and goes to the main gate.

There’s a guard standing there. The man smiles, comes close to the car, an annoying, stinky cigarette stuck between his lips. “Good morning, Mr. Kelley! Why’ didn’t you go through the side gate?” Doesn’t even take it out of the corner of his mouth to talk. Idiot. 

“Morning,” McCoy mumbles back. “Thought I’d go this way.” 

“That kind of day already, Mr. Kelley?” the guy says, chuckling. “Sun just came up.”

“Yeah.” He’s gripping his hands on the steering wheel, he hungers and every human he comes into contact with is like dangling a five course meal in front of his face. The guard smells so good, even with that damned cigarette. “Sure is.”

“Have a nice day, Mr. Kelley.”

“Oh, I will, alright,” McCoy tells him. He flashes his eyes at the guard. 

The guard seems taken aback, staggers into his guard shed. 

"There is a question I'd like to ask you," McCoy says. He gets out of the car. "Just be a moment."


	8. Chapter 8

“You’re ten minutes late, De. That’s unlike you.”

There’s an older man standing in front of him, folding his arms, tapping his foot impatiently, smoking a cigarette. Man appears to be about seventy, but what does McCoy know. These people are from a different century, obviously. The guy might not be that old, everyone in this era appears about ten or twenty years older than their numerical age, probably due to their crappy food and those cancer laden smoke things they insist upon sticking into their mouths every hour upon the hour. The man appears to be in charge of the make-up room. He's clad very official like in a white sleeve shirt with a black clip on tie. 

“Sorry.” McCoy glances down at the clock on his wrist, or a wristwatch as these old Earth people call it. 

He must have squinted at the dial, confused, because the man adds: “It’s five ten. I know it’s an early call time for you today, but I’ve been here since four thirty.”

“Sorry about that,” he says again. He feels anger rising up but stuffs it down. The guy is only doing his job.

“Now you know how I feel!” 

McCoy turns at that. It’s Spock’s voice. But no... not Spock...similar to Spock. A little higher pitched, slightly accented with...maybe Maine or Connecticut or New York or Boston... yeah, Boston, that’s it. The sound of the voice is disconcerting to say the least. 

“Stop giving De a hard time, Fred, he’s not usually up with us vampires,” ‘Spock’ jokes.

It’s Leonard Nimoy in the flesh. McCoy can’t help but stare. Spock as a human being, constantly smiling. Nimoy’s eyes are devilish, dancing, full of mischief as he talks. Spock’s eyes, the real Spock’s eyes, would do that, every once in awhile give a hint of the sprite inside the logical Vulcan. So uncanny. 

“Take a picture, De, it’ll last longer,” Nimoy says with another full grin.

Damn. Every their teeth look the same. 

Nimoy comes up to him, grabs onto his shoulders. “S’matter, De? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Maybe I have,” McCoy replies.

“Got a cig I can bum off of you, De?”

“Huh?”

“Cigarette,” Nimoy repeats. He motions at McCoy’s shirt pocket. “Where’s your pack of smokes, Baby?”

McCoy fumbles at the several pockets on his person. “Oh, those things. Looks like I’m out.”

“Oh Man, maybe you got a spare pack in the car? I’m a little desperate.”

McCoy raises an eyebrow. “Where’s yours?”

“Ran out on the way to the fucking studio. Damn Thriftys doesn’t open up till nine. Come on, De. Glove compartment?” The way Nimoy flutters his eyelashes at him, elbows him like a kid, he’s toast. 

“Alright, I might, y’know, have something in the car,” McCoy says with a scowl. 

Nimoy pats his shoulder and chuckles. “That’s my sexy De. Always lookin’ out for your fellow man. Have I ever told you you’re the best friend a Vulcan could have?”

“Is that right?”

“Listen to that Georgia drawl coming out. Man, you are the real deal.” 

McCoy smirks at the blatant flirtation. He turns and heads out of the make-up room with Nimoy in tow. 

“Leonard!”

They both turn around. “Huh?” they say in unison. 

“Where in the fuck do you two think you’re goin’?” Fred says.

“De’s gonna blow me real quick, out in the parking lot,” Nimoy cracks. McCoy whips his head around at him. “I’m only kiddin’,” Nimoy says quickly. “De’s got some emergency smokes in the car. I’m out and I’m desperate.”

“Well sure, if you can stand Marlboro,” Fred replies. “Why don’t you have some of mine?”

“I’m not smoking your weak Kents with the micronie filter if you paid me a million dollars,” Nimoy says with a haughty sniff. 

A woman holding a script walks by. “Dorothy,” Fred says. “Wanna give Leonard some of your smokes? He’s trying to escape on me, before I can get those ears on him.”

“Hell no,” Nimoy protests. “Those woman’s cigs make a man walk funny.”

“They make cigarettes specifically for women?” McCoy asks, appalled. “And how precisely do they alter your movements?”

“Hey, who’s Spock around here, me or you?” Nimoy says.

*

“Well, how about that,” McCoy says as he opens up the glove compartment. “There’s a whole carton.” He pulls out a pack and hands it over to Nimoy. “Here.”

Nimoy gives it back. “It’s more of a gas to bum them off of you all day.”

“A what?” McCoy shrugs as he puts them into his pocket

Nimoy’s looking at him curiously but finally flicks his head towards the studio door. “Time’s a wasting. I’d love to stay out here and chat with you all day long but I have to go get my ears on.”

“Right. I don’t want to keep you from...uh...transforming into Spock.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Nimoy gives him another piercing gaze. 

McCoy clears his throat, shuts the door. He turns and glances at the car, hesitating a moment. “Right. The show must go on.” 

“What’s with the sunglasses, De?” 

McCoy looks up. “Huh?”

“We just went to the goddamned parking lot. Why’d you put them on all of sudden?”

“Well...I’m a little...I’m a little....” McCoy shrugs.

“Hung over?” Nimoy says. “Yeah, I thought so. You look like death warmed over, you know that?”

“Thanks a lot,” McCoy replies.

“Ahhh, nothing pancake can’t fix." Nimoy stares at him even harder. "Hey, De? You sure you're gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You look strange. Thinner. Gaunt even. You been eating?" 

"Of course."

"Just wondering. I worry about you, sometimes."

"Well, don't." 

"You got some blood on your shirt." Nimoy touches his collar. "You must have cut yourself shaving, right? Too damned early in the morning."

"You got that right," McCoy replies.

Together they walk back into the stages.

*

The make-up man hands McCoy a small application sponge and tin of flesh colored make-up, pancake, before rushing over to Nimoy in the far chair. McCoy sighs, sits down starts applying it. He cringes at the greasy feeling of it on his face. There’s a mirror directly in front of him. He hopes nobody notices that there’s no reflection.

“You need a ton of it today, De,” Fred calls out absently, mid application of pointed appliance on Nimoy’s ear.

“Alright, alright, so everybody keeps telling me,” McCoy replies.

“Haven’t been sleeping much, De? Little doggie keeping you awake?”

“That’s no way to talk about his wife,” a voice bellows out before entering the make-up room. It’s Captain Kirk, except it isn’t. It’s William Shatner the actor who plays him. Mannerisms are exactly alike, but the real captain is serious most of the time. The man doesn’t seem to take anything seriously, gives out a maniacal laugh before plopping down in an adjacent make-up chair. 

“What are you talking about, Bill?” Nimoy says. “Carolyn’s a stunner. If anybody’s gonna keep a man awake it’ll be her.”

“Now just because a woman is a blonde,” Shatner says. “Does not mean she’s a stunner.”

“Yes, it does,” Nimoy says. 

“No, it does not. Blonde does not equal beautiful.”

“De’s wife is beautiful.”

“Yes, she is, Lenny, I agree, but what really makes a broad a looker? What makes ‘em an attractive, gorgeous woman?”

“Huge tits,” Nimoy says. "And she has to be able to cook."

"Spoken like a typical Jewish guy," Shatner says. "Glad I'm not typical."

"Hey," Nimoy replies. "Man's gotta eat, right? I'm not cookin', that's for fucking sure."

"What's wrong with cooking? I like to cook."

Nimoy sticks a lollypop into his mouth. "It's a woman's job."

"The fuck it is, Lenny. So, what do you think, De?” Shatner asks. “You like huge knockers? You a tit man? Or a leg man? You wife’s got both of ‘em. I bet she can cook, too. Lucky you.”

“Would you quit with the cracks about the wife?” McCoy says a little too harshly. “She’s got everything Mr. Kelley would want in a companion. Alright?” 

“Oh oh. If De’s referring to himself in the third person, now we know he’s really pissed off,” Shatner replies with a devilish chuckle. “Sorry baby, it’s just that it’s your fault that I’m here so early, isn’t it. So, really, anything is fair game for discussion. Like that silly car you insist upon driving.”

“Got me here didn’t it?” McCoy shoots back. 

“Yeah, but--”

“Mr. Kelley, do you want some breakfast?”

McCoy looks up. There’s a kid, appears to be a lowly production assistant wearing an ID tag that says ‘Star Trek’ on it, standing in front of him with a clipboard. He would love some breakfast. But not the kind that this kid is offering. “No, thanks.” 

“I’ll have a double order of some eggs and sausage and some coffee and some hash browns,” Shatner calls out.

“We know you will, Bill,” Nimoy replies.

“Hey, I can have a hearty breakfast. I worked out. Now enough about my breakfast. Lets talk about De’s junky car.”

“Felt top of the line to me,” McCoy replies. “A classic. Driving it is a pleasure. Don’t make them like that anymore.”

“That thing is brand new, De. What do you mean they don’t make them like that anymore? It’s still a hunk of junk. A brand new hunk of tin. A green hunk of tin.”

Nimoy calls out: “Not everybody needs a flashy Corvette to get around town. Your rattletrap gets what--three miles to the gallon? I mean we got a gas crisis going on and you’re intent on sucking up all the ethyl.”

“My Corvette is not a rattletrap and I deserve all the leaded I can get. Dixie gets hungry,” Shatner says with mock indignation. 

“You named your rattletrap, Dixie?” Nimoy sputters. “Oh Jesus.”

“Listen,” Shatner replies. “Dixie is a fine American automobile. Unlike somebody’s land yaught that takes up two parking spaces. Your Riv doesn’t even have a name.”

“Yes it does,” Nimoy says.

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Oh...come on. What is it? I can’t stand it, tell me. Please?”

Nimoy is laying down now, getting his eyebrows applied. “De...should I tell him?”

“Sure,” McCoy says absently. “Go ahead.”

“De’s a zombie this morning,” Nimoy says. “Okay, for De I will. It’s called ‘The Shark’.”

Shatner, as to be expected, breaks out in hysterical giggles. “The Shark? The shark? Are you shitting me?” 

“Yeah. It swims instead of drives. That’s why it’s called ‘The Shark’. That, and my wife named it that.”

“Your wife does not know how to name a car,” Shatner says. “Grounds for divorce.”

They keep this up the sexist comments, making fun of each other’s cars, eating habits, wives and appearance and it’s obvious that they go through this moronic banter every morning. 

Shatner yawns. “Fuck! Too goddamned early. Thanks a lot, De. I think I hear a rooster crowing in the corner.”


	9. Chapter 9

The filming day goes uneventful enough, even with McCoy being thrown into this television show making and faking his way through. Nobody seems to notice his efforts so he must be doing a great job. It is strange being clad in his sickbay silks and these boots that were a nightmare to don but it is precisely the same pattern as his real uniform. And when they come out of their trailer/dressing rooms and appear on the soundstage for shooting, he does a huge double take at Nimoy when the man's make up is finished and he's in full costume. Nimoy's personality completely changes, becomes calm and stoic and eerily quiet and really drives home the illusion that he is truly a Vulcan. 

"Hello, Doctor," Nimoy/Spock says to him. In Spock's voice. Looking at him just like Spock does. His heart leaps at that. 

"Greetings, Mr. Spock," he manages. 

The other actors and the crew tend make fun of Nimoy, he notices. The 'method guy' staying in character much throughout the day, but it means that he gets to have Spock back, till he can get the nerve to permanently bring Spock back, according to his plan. 

He follows what Nimoy and Shatner, et al seem to be doing for filming and it seems to be just fine.

The order of this morning, seems to be pick up shots, close ups. He can easily check the script for any necessary dialogue. Luckily for him, his copy is already circled with several notes in the margin written by DeForest. The dialogue he’s expected to say feels natural to him, what he would normally speak in the course of his duties so isn’t too difficult to memorize within minutes. 

Actually it’s a little creepy--it IS stuff he would say. Like they reached into his mind and pulled out his thoughts and musings throughout the working day.

At first he does paraphrase his lines and he speaks a little fast. He’s not an actor, he’s a doctor so it’s the best he can do with little preparation. The script girl comes over after a take and corrects him a few times, then he realizes he’s expected to parrot back exactly what’s written on these blue typed pages on the orange paper. He learns to slow it down some be a bit more articulate and pause a beat in case they need to cut. But that’s not too much trouble after a while. 

Not every day someone gets to play himself. Or rather pretend he’s another man playing himself. Or is it now, pretend to be a human, playing a man who used to be himself. 

There's a union break so he can wander. He stumbles upon the conference room table being painted in between the soundstages. He watches the crewmen for a few moments, fascinated. They seem happy to have his attention. 

"How else does it get so pristine for camera?" they say. He doesn't know, the real conference table stays like that, doesn't ever get scuffed. So he tells them they're doing a great job and then walks on. 

There's men digging in the trash dumpster. "Oh great, this piece of cardboard dohicky looks futuristic. This is great. Let's paint this and stick it in the corridor."

He pauses to watch. "But thats an atmosphere energy monitor you've got in your hands," he tells them. 

"Is it? Yeah, that's what it is all right!" 

He shakes his head and goes back to the soundstage when the union break is over with.

He gets chewed out by the Director of Photography because he’s jumped off something known as their ‘marks’, which is tape on the floor that he is expected to stand on. He has to stand too damned close for comfort with Shatner in a ‘two-shot’. Never stood that close together on the real Enterprise. But this is Hollywood. Crazy people. He’s glad he’s never gotten into making movies. 

In between takes, the make-up man keeps hovering and fussing around him however, keeps cornering him, powdering him and putting something from a dropper into his eyes. It stings. He bats the man off of him in protest. “What in the devil is that substance?”

“It’s Visine. Gets the red out. You’re severly bloodshot today, De.”

“It hurts like hell. Is that stuff working?”

“Not really.”

“Give it to me.”

Cowed, the make-up man hands it over. McCoy squints at it. There’s no ingredients listed on the container. 

“Visine usually works just fine on you.” The make-up man throws up his arms. “Just trying to make you look good, and that’s the goddamned thanks I get. Try going to bed earlier and getting a decent nights sleep.” He stuffs a cigarette in his mouth, then stomps off.

Shatner lunges into the make-up man’s place. “Don’t worry Baby, don’t listen to Fred, you look beautiful, your eyes are only as red as your gorgeous lips.” He swats McCoy’s ass and saunters off.

McCoy shakes his head and sighs.

Now about this set that they have doubling as the Enterprise. This is something else. A lot to get used to. The rooms are much smaller and less complete than aboard the real ship that he hopes is still orbiting overhead. And instead of the doors opening up like they should via a computer sensor, there’s a guy who opens the pneumatic door via a pulley system. That first time he’d ran right into the doors, expecting them to pop open much to the delight of the studio crew in the middle of their coffee and donuts. 

“Good God,” he calls out to the several pairs of eyes trained on him, mouths mid donut. “You can get killed just walking to the coffee shop on this intergalactic space cruiser!” The crew let out some hearty guffaws again. “That’s not very goddamned funny!” They just laugh even harder much to his consternation. 

He sulks as he watches the film crew consuming their pastries and coffee. He used to be able to drink coffee. He used to love coffee. It smells disgusting now. Now he just wants...he just wants....dammit. He turns away from their revolting munching. That security guard's blood didn't last long. Hunger pangs stab his stomach. 

After a set up it’s back to work on the next take. Nimoy’s standing just out of shot, feeding him lines so that a stagehand doesn’t have to do it. All the while giving him the eye, while in perfect Spock character. Vulcan flirting. He’s gotta be imagining things. This Human/Vulcan is just being nice, friendly. The actors sexually harass each other constantly, something that would never fly in the 23rd century, but this is how they do it, here. The man means nothing by his actions. But this guy is giving the 'fuck me' eyes just like Spock once did. That can't be right. 

Another take they’re all on the bridge which is quite a bit smaller than the real one. He's in a tableau with Nimoy, both standing on either side of Shatner in the captain's chair. Nichelle Nichols is behind them at the communications station, Walter Koenig and George Takei at the helm. The front portion where the viewscreen would be is gone, open so that the huge panavision camera can sit there. 

On a C-stand, a crewman hangs up a picture of a nude girl with large breasts. A Playboy centerfold. 

“See that?” Joe Pevney says, pointing to it. “That’s the enemy alien. That’s where you’re all lookin’.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Shatner says. “Those damn aliens.”

“Aye,” Jimmy Doohan says in his Scotty voice, nodding.

"That's too bad," Koenig says, in his Chekov voice. 

McCoy rolls his eyes. 

“Highly illogical,” Nimoy says.

*

At lunch time, a SAG union enforced break of exactly an hour, McCoy sits down in the nearby chair reserved for ‘DeForest Kelley’--got the actor’s name emblazoned right on it. 

“Comin’ to lunch, De?” It’s Spock...well Nimoy back in his own voice again, strangely enough out of character but still in full make-up and costume. 

McCoy shakes his head. “I need to study my lines. I made a lot of mistakes this morning.”

“I thought you did great today, baby.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure you don’t want to come, De? You can ride on my handlebars.” Nimoy indicates the red bicycle next to him, that he’s straddling. “Maybe I’ll ride on them. Let you pedal.” He laughs at his own joke.

“Sounds like fun,” McCoy says. “But, I’ll stay here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Nimoy winks at him and then mounts said bike, looking absolutely adorable if McCoy wants to admit it to himself. The man calmly takes off, looking exactly like Spock would, if the Vulcan ever had ridden a bicycle. He wonders if Spock had ever done so. Probably not. Bicycles are not logical. Nimoy should have no problem replacing the real Spock. He feels a pang of loss, desperately holds back tears and reminds himself for the thousanth time that Nimoy, now matter how much he wants him to be, is not really Spock and should not really be Spock. 

He puts his face into his hands. “What am I doing here? I have no right.”

Suddenly he senses somebody standing at his elbow. Must be one of the crew wanting to bum a cigarette off of him. He glances over.

Standing politely beside his chair is a pimply, dorky, tall and lanky kid with dark hair. Looks to be about eighteen years old. The kid’s got a donut in hand and in between munches he says: “Hi.” 

“Hello.” McCoy smiles back in hopefully his most non threatening way. He doesn’t ask the kid’s name, he probably should already know who this kid is, kid seems extreemely confident and beaming from ear to ear expectantly. The kid takes another bite of the donut, chews then swallows it then gulps some coffee.

“Just getting a feel for the real Dr. McCoy,” the kid says. 

‘The real Dr. McCoy?’ he thinks with a start. He raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“I’ve only seen you on the television,” the kid says. He holds out his hand. McCoy shakes it. “I’m David Gerrold, I’m writing the next script.”

“Oh!” McCoy replies. “I see. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Kelley.”

“So, uh, what’s the next script about? If I may ask.”

“It’s called: ‘A Fuzzy Thing Happened to Me’,” Gerrold replies in a proud voice. 

“A Fuzzy Thing--?”

Somebody, a crewman drops a object, a piece of equipment, there’s a loud noise as it clatters to the floor, followed by a stream of loud cursing. 

“--Happened to Me,” Gerrold finishes for him.

“Is that a riff on ‘a funny thing--’?”

“Yeah, sure is. Neat huh? Well, the story is about these creatures called Fuzzies that are cute and furry and they wind up over breeding and taking over the Enterprise.”

“Cute and furry things that take over the ship? Hey, those sound like Tribbles,” McCoy mutters before he can catch himself. 

“What?” Gerrold replies.

“Nothing,” McCoy says quickly.

“No you said, ‘Tribbles’,” Gerrold says. “I definitely heard Tribbles.”

“I don’t know what I was talking about,” McCoy says. “I probably said ‘gee those fuzzy things sound like ‘trouble’.” 

“You said ‘Tribbles’. I like that name,” Gerrold says. 

“Well, I’m sure the name’s already being used by somebody else. Maybe Robert Heinlein’s used that in a book. That must be where I got it from.”

“No. Never heard it before, did you just make it up?”

“No, I--”

“Tribbles,” Gerrold mumbles and nods as he walks away. “Tribbles.”

McCoy huffs and throws down his script. “Oh goddammit. Did I just alter history yet again?”

*

De opens his eyes. Utter darkness. He can't see. His heart pounds. 

Oh God, he’s dead, he’s in a coffin, buried alive, it’s hot, clausterphobic in here. 

But no, he’s not dead. He’s alive. He's breathing. But not for long. he feels around. He reaches above him. Car trunk. There’s the spare tire. He’s inside of a car. He’s inside of the goddamned trunk of a car. Oh shit. Who put him in a trunk of a car? Is it his car? He’s gonna suffocate in here. He’s gonna suffocate in here. _Oh God, he’s gonna die._

Calm. Keep calm. Bang on trunk, call for help. Doesn’t sound like he’s moving, maybe he’s in a parking lot with people around. Maybe the car’s been abandoned, maybe he’ll die locked in here. 

He shrieks out: “HELP ME!!! SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!

He waits. Nobody seems to come to his aid. Maybe the car has been abandoned. He’s not tied up, he doesn’t think, but he can’t get out from the inside. Goddamned Thunderbird should have an escape switch. Too bad Scotty can’t beam him outta here. Maybe the killer will return, chop him up like the Black Dahlia, dump him in pieces in LA someplace. Wouldn’t that be something. Read all about it: Dr. McCoy winds up like the Black Dahlia. 

Where the fuck is he? Where’s Carolyn? “Carolyn!” He can just about remember chasing after the dog, then nothing. Maybe she’s...maybe.... 

It sure is getting warm in here. Too warm. After a while he slumps, closes his eyes.

“Somebody help me,” he cries out, before losing consciousness.


	10. Chapter 10

McCoy slides the key in the lock, turns it and pops open the trunk. 

Kelley’s still inside, clad in the robe and pajamas, bare foot, laying in the fetal position. Unmoving. McCoy’s heart sinks. “I’ve killed him.” 

But no, there’s a moan, Kelley shifts but does not rouse. 

McCoy dips his arms into the trunk, gently lifts the man out. Place is deserted so nobody spots him carrying Kelley to his dressing room. He's able to sneak the man inside and for that he is grateful. 

He lays Kelley on the sofa and scans the man with his type II. The Human proves dehydrated and weak, but other than that seems to be alright. 

He pulls out his hypo, the one loaded with tri-ox compound. There’s a hiss. Kelley opens his eyes, widens them at the hypo. The blue eyes, exactly like his own are frantic, darting around. The eyes finally meet his. “I’m not looking into a mirror, am I?”

McCoy gives him a small smile. “No.”

“Who are you?”

McCoy allows Kelley to sit up on the couch. “Would you believe me, if I told you?”

The man grimaces. “I have to use the john.”

“The what?”

“The bathroom! I have to pee, you nitwit!” 

He shouldn’t let Kelley out of his sight, but it’ll destroy the man’s bladder if he can’t go. “Fine. I believe you know where it is.”

“Well, it is my dressing room.”

“Come right back.”

Kelley glares at him, darts into the toilet, then returns a few moments later. “I’m back!” He stares again at the hypo and the tri-corder. “Irving’s gonna get downright annoyed when he realizes you’ve swiped his props.”

“Oh yes, we’ve met,” McCoy says. “Interesting gentleman.” And something about Feinberg didn’t sit well with him. But he puts that out of his mind.

Kelley shakes his head. Stares at him harder. “You are a spitting image of me, Sir. How is that possible? I don’t have an identical twin. I have a brother, but you’re not him.”

“Well, I didn’t think I had a twin either, but apparently I do.”

“So you stole my car and brought me here?” The man suddenly appears to panic. “You didn’t--you didn’t hurt my wife?” The arms flail out at him, trying to strike him. 

McCoy catches Kelley’s wrists. “You wife is safe. She’s just fine. Don’t worry about her.”

“You better not have hurt her or my dog or my turtle.”

“Your dog is fine too, alright? You have a turtle? I didn’t even see that. Look. Everybody’s fine.”

Kelley seems to relax. He lowers his arms. “Alright, if you say so. So tell me who you are and why the hell you locked me in my trunk? You know that was the most terrifying three hours of my life?”

McCoy throws him a sheepish glance. “It was more like twelve.”

“Time is it?”

McCoy holds up his tri-corder. Pushes a button. “Local time appears to be 9pm.”

“What about...what about...I had to shoot a scene today...I’ve been in the trunk that long?” McCoy smacks his palm down on his robe. “Joe Pevney probably hit the ceiling when I didn’t show up for work today.”

“Everything’s fine,” McCoy says. “I subbed for you.”

“You did my scenes?”

“I did.”

“How’d it go?”

“It was alright.”

“Shatner try to upstage you like he does me?”

“Oh, is that why I had to keep turning my head away from the camera?”

“Yeah, he does that. The trick is to shift towards him, get him to knock that shit off--wait a minute--nobody noticed I wasn’t there?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” Kelley scrunches up his face, itching the stubble on his cheek. "Nobody?"

“It wasn’t easy,” McCoy tells him. “I had the damnedest time. Remembering all those lines, hitting my marks without staring at my feet. And the two shot--”

“Yeah, we make it look easy, don’t we?” The man chuckles but sobers when he notices the tri-corder whistling. “It’s not supposed to make that noise, the tri-corder's only a prop--Glenn Glenn adds that sound affect--did you build that? Is it a model?”

“No, I didn’t build it and it’s not a model. It’s a working piece of equipment.”

“Your voice sounds exactly like mine,” the man says. 

“No, you’re a little softer spoken than I am,” McCoy replies.

“But when I’m in character as McCoy--thats--” The man halts and shakes his head. “Wait a minute, wait a goddamned minute, this is crazy, why am I talking to you like I’ve known you all my life? You--” 

McCoy holds out his hand. “I’m Doctor Leonard McCoy. You’re DeForest Kelley, right?”

Kelley glances down at McCoy's fingers. "You've got my ring on."

"It used to belong to my--"

"Mother," they say simultaneously.

"Oh my God." Kelley looks at his own ring then turns from him, flops down onto the couch face down. “Oh my god, I have to be hallucinating, or crazy, or I’m dead. I’m dead, Jim.”

“You’re definitely not hallucinating, nor crazy, nor are you dead,” McCoy assures him. “Other than a little bit of dehydration, but I fixed that with some Tri-ox.”

“Tri-ox...compound?” Kelley flips over, then sits up. “Listen, buddy, tell me who you really are and what the fuck you’re doing here!”

McCoy sits on the couch, next to Kelley. “I’m really who I say I am. I'm Leonard McCoy.”

“How--that can’t be?” Kelley rubs the stubble on his face once again. “I gotta quit drinking. That’s it, not another goddamned drop. McCoy is not real. He’s a character I play on television.”

“Dr. McCoy is real and I’m him.”

“So the Enterprise is real?”

“Yes.”

“What about Captain Kirk and Spock and Scotty and Uhura and Sulu and Chekov? Do those people really exist, too?”

“They did.”

“What do you mean, they did? Your spaceship isn’t up there orbiting the Earth?” The man snaps his fingers. “I knew it!”

“Jim and Spock are dead,” McCoy says. “The others...I’m not so sure about.”

“Oh...I’m sorry. I really am.” The man shakes his head. “Wait just a damned minute. You’re joking, right? How can they be--they’re not real people, they’re characters!”

McCoy grabs onto the man’s wrists. “Listen you, you feel me touching you? You feel that? You feel my hands? I exist.”

“Alright, so you do. Goddamn it, your hands are icy cold. You’re alive.”

McCoy shakes his head. “I’m not alive.”

Kelley closes his eyes, lays back down. “This is a dream. A horrible nightmare. Wake up, De.”

McCoy slaps his face gently so that the man opens them. “It’s not a dream. I’m really Dr. McCoy. Here, look. He glances around for something else he can show the guy.

“Do you have a communicator?" Kelley asks. "I want to call the Enterprise.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not? See, I knew you were bullshitting me.”

“Fine.” McCoy pulls off his communicator of his belt, shows it to the man. “You can’t talk to the ship because the Enterprise won’t or can’t answer.” He flips oven the communicator, it makes the requisite chirping noise. “McCoy to Enterprise.” There’s only static. “See?” He pops it closed. 

“That thing really works?” McCoy hands it over to Kelley. Kelley flips it open in precisely the same manner. “No...it can’t be. This thing--it’s a prop. That’s all it is.”

“That is a working communicator.”

“Where’s the Enterprise?”

McCoy shows Kelley his tri-corder. “It’s orbiting overhead. See? I’m hoping that soon somebody will beam down--but nobody has, which means something is blocking the beam, blocking communications.”

“Maybe they’ll send a shuttlecraft down with some red shirts,” Kelley says. Then shakes his head.

“I see you’re familiar with standard procedure,” McCoy replies. 

“What do you mean you’re not alive, and why is Jim and Spock dead?”

McCoy sighs. “We were attacked at the Sherman Oaks Galleria--there’s some kind of group of aliens living there. Vampires.”

Kelley holds up a hand. “The Sherman Oaks Galleria? That’s a dead mall.”

“Exactly,” McCoy says.

“Now wait a minute. There’s no such thing as vampires.”

“I thought so, too, but I was wrong.”

“Well, on second thought, maybe there are--I mean you exist, I’m talking to Dr. Leonard McCoy in the flesh, unless I’ve gone nuts but you’re assuring me that you are real, and I’m not hallucinating and don’t need to be thrown into the looney bin--so shit, maybe vampires are in fact real!” Kelley says then snorts.

“They’re real,” McCoy says. “I’ve come to the conclusion that I am in fact a vampire. See?” He shows the man his fangs.

"Like Dracula," Kelley declares.

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Yes, like Dracula."

"Where's your cape?"

"I don't have one."

"Can you turn into a bat?"

"I haven't tried that. Yet."

Kelley’s blue electric eyes suddenly widen with fright. “Holy. Shit. And you’re--fixin’ to eat me? Suck my blood?”

“You smell absolutely delicious,” McCoy admits to him, “But I’m doing my best to avoid it.”

“You killed Jim and Spock?”

“No. The entity did. Then it attacked me, turned me into one of them. See?” He shows the man the small scars on his own neck. 

“Are they vampires up there on the Enterprise?”

“Not as far as I know. I’m the only one left from the landing party.”

“Then you,” Kelley says, “you can’t go back to the ship. You’ll want to--if I understand vampire lore correctly--you’ll want to feed on them and you’ll kill them all.”

“That’s correct. I certainly have that urge. Unfortunately. I can’t--do anything about that.”

“You’re a physician, right? Can’t you reverse this? Use your fancy 23rd century medicine?”

“There’s no cure for what ails me.”

“So you’re stranded here. On Earth. Of the past.”

“That’s right. I am. For the moment.”

“How’d you get here?”

“Slingshot around the sun. The exact procedure is classified.”

“I already know all about it,” Kelley says. “We did it in a first season episode. Don’t you guys know that method of time travel is unreliable? Lemmie guess it was all Jim’s crazy idea--if he’s anything like the character Bill plays--”

“Tell me about it,” McCoy replies. “We were ordered to visit the Sherman Oaks Galleria in 1982, to observe the--well we were supposed to observe the location in the 80’s.”

“Well this is 1967. Nobody’s shopped at the Galleria since the fifties--it closed in 57, I think. Been sitting there empty all these years.”

“Well, where the hell does everybody in Sherman Oaks shop?” McCoy demands.

“The Fashion Center.”

“The Fashion Center?”

“Yeah, the Sherman Oaks Fashion Center. Up there on Moorpark, about ten minutes drive from my house. Wait a minute, do all the props work correctly so you have a--”

“A phaser?” McCoy pulls it off his belt. “Yes. This works. Want to see it?”

Kelley nods. McCoy hands it over. Kelley hefts it. “It’s heavy. Even for a Type I. Still looks exactly like an electric shaver.”

“It’s real. Go on,” McCoy says. 

“Go on, what?”

“Kill me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what the hell I mean. Push the goddamned button--I’ll vaporize and I won’t leave a body behind--nobody will know you did it, nobody will know I was ever here. Then you do me a favor and destroy that phaser.”

“This doesn’t really work,” Kelley says. “It’s impossible.”

“Try it and see. Go ahead. Push the button. You know how to operate it--just like the prop. Go on, do it.”

“It doesn’t really work,” Kelley protests, but does in fact aim it squarely at McCoy’s chest. “This isn’t real.”

“Push the button.”

“Give me a minute.”

“PUSH THE BUTTON!” McCoy shrieks at him. 

Kelley suddenly moves it away from McCoy, takes aim at a chair at the dressing table. He pushes the button. The phaser comes to life, a beam shoots out of it, vaporizing it. Kelley stands there in stupefied silence. He hands the phaser back to McCoy. "I'm not killing anybody, vampire or no vampire. You can forget it. Maybe Shatner will help you out there."

McCoy suddenly twists the knob on the phaser, setting it to overload. “Get out of here. Run. Out of the dressing room.”

“Don’t do it,” Kelley says. "Please."

“Get out of here,” McCoy warns. “Run. Get the hell out of here.”

Kelley suddenly grabs the phaser away from McCoy’s grasp. He turns it off the overload setting. “There’s a way out. Don’t kill yourself. Alright? There’s gotta be a way out of this. I’ll help you.”

“You’ll help me?”

“Yeah, just...don’t eat me. Or suck my blood, or whatever the hell you’re fixing to do.”

McCoy gives Kelley a wry smile. “You know I’m starving.”

“You can’t eat real food?”

McCoy shakes his head. “I can no longer consume it.”

Kelley stares at the bag on McCoy’s hip. “That the rest of your medical equipment, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“May I?” Kelley holds out his hands.

McCoy hesitates a moment, then hands the bag over. “I shouldn’t be doing this--but here.”

Kelley opens the bag, draws out another type II scanner. He uses it on McCoy. It whistles. “Sure is heavier than the salt shakers. I can’t discern the whistle, what does it say?”

McCoy grabs the scanner away from him. “It’s saying ‘no vitals’.” He scowls as he shoves it back into his medical bag. 

Kelley touches McCoy’s arm in an obvious comforting gesture. “Come on, I’ll take you home. Lord knows I need a damned long hot shower and a shave and something to eat and you--” He stops. “Well, can vampires sleep? I don’t have a coffin laying around but you’re welcome to stay with us--I have a comfy sofa. Carolyn’s gonna have a heart attack when she sees you and I standing there together!”

__________________  
On to Chapter 11...


	11. Chapter 11

As Kelley peels out of the Desilu Studio complex in the Thunderbird, McCoy crouches down in the passenger seat next to him. When they hit Melrose Avenue he straightens up. 

“No seat belts in this thing?” McCoy asks.

“Seat belts?” Kelley replies. “Well, yeah, they’re there. Lap belt. Nobody ever uses them, though.”

“This thing have airbags?”

“What are those?” Kelley moves his hand over to the glove box. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just getting my pack of cigs, that’s all, relax. Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

“So uh...” Kelley says. He flicks the lighter, lights the cigarette, takes a long drag on it. McCoy wrinkles his nose at the odor but says nothing. “Tell me about the real Enterprise. What’s sickbay like?”

“It’s bigger than your sets, that’s for sure,” McCoy says. “But the less I tell about the ship, the better.”

“Oh,” Kelley says, the disappointment evident in his voice. He pauses, but seems to be fishing for conversation. "So you're uh, dead?"

"Undead."

"What is being undead like?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the closest thing I can imagine to your uh, situation, is Jesus."

"Jesus?"

"Yeah. You know, Jesus. On the third day he rose again. Easter Sunday? My dad was a minister."

"Was he? Well, Jesus wasn't a vampire," McCoy says, glancing out the window. "At least I don't think so."

"I know, but...uh. What does being a vampire feel like? I'm an actor, I like to experience things."

"Well I--" McCoy halts. They're almost there at the Kelley's home. Kelley swings around the corner from Sherman Oaks Avenue to Greenleaf Street and finally pulls into the driveway. 

"Here we are," Kelley says. "Hey, watch this.” He clicks a box from the rear view mirror. The garage door rises up. “Neat, huh?” Kelley asks. 

“Uh yeah,” McCoy says, raising an eyebrow. “Sure.”

Kelley’s eyes widen as he surveys the garage. “Carolyn’s not home. Her car’s not here. Did you--?”

“I didn’t do a damned thing to her. I swear to you,” McCoy says. “I don’t know where she is.”

“Well, she’s either left me or she’s out playing bridge. Gets home at midnight on bridge nights. You didn’t cause any arguments, did you?”

“I did no such thing.”

“Well,” Kelley says, chewing on his cheek. He pulls up into the garage, sets the transmission to ‘park’. Shuts off the engine. “Maybe it’s a good idea we’re alone for awhile. I can help you formulate a plan on what to do.”

“I already know what to do.” McCoy holds up his phaser, points it at Kelley’s chest.

“What are you gonna do...you’re not gonna kill me are you?”

“Not if you behave.”

“So what do you want? Money? I told you I’d help you--but don’t clean out my damned bank account.”

“I don’t want your money. I’m sorry, you’re gonna spend some time in the trunk again.”

Kelley shakes his head. “No! I get claustrophobic in there. What about your Hippocratic oath--do no harm? I know that Dr. McCoy took that oath. Don’t put me that trunk again! Please don’t put me in that trunk! Please don’t!”

With his other hand, McCoy dips into his medical bag, draws out his hypo. “Stop begging. Don’t worry. You won’t even notice your surroundings. You’ll be fast asleep.”

“I told you I’d help you, let me help you. I can help you. Don’t do this to me. What are you--don’t you dare hurt my wife.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Kelley.” McCoy grabs onto Kelley’s hand. 

“Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t!” The hypo hisses against his wrist. Kelley begins to fade out. “Don’t hurt my wife, please....” His eyes close.

*

McCoy feigns sleep in bed when Kelley’s wife puts the key in the lock then comes through the front door. He’d heard her pull up into the driveway. 

Carolyn enters the bedroom, then leaves, uses the bathroom, then comes back and gets into bed next to him. He’s facing away from her. She snuggles up close--he has to allow this, to not arouse suspicion, but her hands are roaming around his body. She’s trying to arouse him. 

“Stop it,” McCoy whispers. He pushes her hands away.

“It’s been a whole week, De.”

“I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow. Got the whole day off tomorrow.”

"You do?"

"New episode, they're dealing with the script. Read through's not till day after next." 

Carolyn turns over, mutters a comment he can’t quite catch, then sighs. He waits for her breathing to slow, hears the slight snore escaping from her lips. 

He sits up and sneaks out of bed. She stirs a moment, then settles back to sleep.

He’ll have to keep sedating Kelley through the day tomorrow, the most that hypo will last is 6 hours. 

He walks through the house, goes into the back yard to think. 

He notices a woodshed, or a work shed, with a padlock on the door nestled next to the rose bushes in the far corner of the huge backyard. Perfect. Just needs to set an alarm for the next hypo. 

He heads to the car, opens the trunk, pulls out Kelley’s limp body. 

The inside of the shed is tidy, not too cluttered. Perfect. He’ll re-sedate him in exactly three hours. 

He closes the shed, locks the padlock, slides the keys into his pocket. 

* 

McCoy sits at the kitchen table. The sun comes up, he lunges towards the windows, pulls the shutters closed, putting the house in almost complete darkness. That’s better. Those hunger pangs--The dog walks past, growling at him. He slides his tongue against his sharp teeth and wonders if dog blood tastes as good as a human.

He hears slippers approaching. “That you, De?” 

“No, it’s the damned bogeyman.” He’s so hungry his stomach is in knots. 

Carolyn walks past him, enters the kitchen. “Want some breakfast?” she calls back.

“No.”

“De, you’re getting too thin, you need to eat something. All you seem to live on is cigarettes and coffee, day in and day out. Come on, eat some breakfast. Want some eggs?”

“No.” He bites on his thumb. No, he doesn’t want any damned chicken eggs. He wants her for breakfast. She smells so good, goddamned tease--he can’t stand it. 

“De?” The slippers stop in front of him. “Look at me.”

He glances up, meets her piercing gaze. “What.”

“Why do you have it so dark in here?”

“I just do.”

“What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“I’m tired. Had a rough day at work, yesterday.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone. I’m fixing breakfast. Sure you don’t want any bacon?”

“I’m not hungry, Carolyn,” McCoy insists. 

She flips on the kitchen light and she’s humming as she’s fixing her breakfast, the odor of it--suddenly and overwhelmingly nauseates him. He gets up, rushes away from her, into the bathroom to puke. But it’s only dry heaves. Hasn’t fed enough to create any proper vomit. Unfortunately his gag reflex still works, but he doesn’t need to ever urinate or defecate anymore. Amazing what still is functional on his technically deceased body and what isn’t. 

He hears growling and sniffing of the dog at the bathroom door. Then a knock. “De? You alright in there?”

“Yeah, be out in a minute.” McCoy splashes water on his face, sure wish he could see himself in he mirror. He feels his face. Beard repressor should have worn off by now, but yet his beard isn’t growing. His face is as smooth as a baby’s behind. He looks at his fingernails--those probably won’t grow anymore, either.

He digs into the medical bag he’d hidden in the bottom drawer. Wishes he had some type of plasma substitute he could feed on. Wishes he could beam something down, anything. 

He tries the communicator again. “McCoy to Enterprise.” Still nothing. 

He stuffs the communicator down into the bottom drawer, under his discarded clothing. 

He comes out of the bathroom to find that damned woman has got every shade in the house open. Ow. 

He immediately goes and pulls down the shades. 

“What are you doing, De? It’s a beautiful day outside. Freezing, but gorgeous.” She goes back and pulls them back up. 

He hides his eyes behind his arm. “Put the shutters back the way I had it.”

“De? What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. I have...I have conjunctivitis. The uh...doctor says the sunlight bothers my eyes.”

“You went to the doctor?” Her tone sounds skeptical--as she has every right to be.  
“Yeah.”

“What’s conjunctivitis, is that pink eye?”

“Yeah, pink eye.”

“Did the doctor give you any medicine?”

“No. Just keep the shutters down, alright? Can you do that, today, huh, Carolyn?”

She glares at him and he knows his attitude is downright atrocious, but dammit he’s hungry and it’s taking everything out of him to keep his paws off of her and that dog. Tonight. Tonight he’ll feed. On some random stranger. But not now. Now he’ll bide his time until the damned sun goes away. 

“Carolyn,” he says. “I’m going to bed. I’m not feeling well.”

*

He must have fallen asleep--he panics a moment when he opens his eyes, unsure of where he is. Oh yes. The Kelleys. Earth. 1967. 

He glances at the clock on the nightstand. Seven PM. It’s dark outside. He gets out of bed, pulls off the man's pajamas and dons a pair of pants and a shirt. Time to re-sedate Kelley then try again to contact the ship. Hurry before the guy wakes up. He’s got thirty seconds to get out there. 

He heads out into the living room, bee lines it towards the back door. 

“De, is that you?” Carolyn calls out. “You want some dinner?”

“No. Still not feeling up to food,” he calls back.

“Alright. Want a drink?” 

“No.” Thirty seconds. 

“De, wait,” Carolyn’s voice booms behind him. “It’s freezing out there. You should put a jacket on. I just washed yours. Let me get it for you.”

He spins around on her, puts his hands on her shoulders--grabs on tight. His fingers clutch her, almost like claws. “Stop pestering me, woman. Leave me the hell alone.” 

“De, let go, you’re hurting me.”

He pushes her away. He promised Kelley he wouldn’t hurt the woman. “Sorry. I uh....” Her scent, just one little bite. That’s all. “I’ll be in the back yard.”

“Maybe you could feed Myrtle out there, I’ll turn on the light for you.” 

Ten seconds. Five, four, three, two, one.

He can see just fine without the light but he doesn’t protest. 

*

He re-enters the house. And halts. 

Carolyn clutches a butcher knife, a growling dog at her feet. Ah, she’s grown wise to him, she knows, she’s finally listened to the dog. 

He holds up his hands. “Okay. I can explain.”

“I’m carving a pumpkin,” she replies.

“What?” He lowers his arms.

“Tomorrow’s Halloween, De. We need a jack o’ lantern,” she says. He follows her into the kitchen. “Want to help me carve the pumpkin?”

“Huh?” he replies. “No. I’ll let you do that on your own.”

“You usually like to help out. You always dig the guts out for me.”

“Not this year,” he says. “I’ll be in the living room.”

The ‘television’ is on when he heads into there. He sits down on the couch. 

“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news. A man has been found dead at Desilu Studios. The unidentified man appears to have been bitten via two points at the neck. Authorities say that this being so close to halloween, perhaps the killer is attempting to pretend they are vampiric in nature--” 

“Oh my God!” Carolyn exclaims, entering the living room. “Vampires? There’s no such thing.”

“Shhh,” McCoy says. Took 'em long enough to find the body. They might trace that body back to here. Maybe. He should get out of here. Take the man's car and go. He gets up.

"Where are you going?"

“The bathroom.” McCoy rushes in, locks the door, digs out his communicator. “McCoy to Enterprise.” Still nothing. He shoves the communicator back into his hiding place. He comes out of the bathroom. He rushes to the bedroom, looking for the car keys. Where the hell are they?

“Carolyn, what’d you do with my car keys?” he yells out. 

“They’re in here. You set them on the end table, remember?”

“Oh.” He comes back out to join her, begins to pace back and forth.

“What’s the matter?” Carolyn asks.

“I just remembered, I need to go back to the studio.”

“Why? I thought you were wrapped for tonight?”

“I--” 

Riiiiiing! Riiiiiiinnnng! Riiiiiiiiing! They both jump. 

“What the hell was that?” McCoy asks.

“It’s only the telephone.” Carolyn says. She’s picks up the black device, holding it up to her ear. “Hello? Oh, hi. Yeah, he’s here.” She moves the receiver away. “It’s for you. It’s Leonard.”

McCoy takes the device from her. Holds it up to his ear like she has just done. “Hello?”

“De?” Nimoy’s voice. “Did you see the news?”

McCoy spies Carolyn out of the corner of his eye, entranced by the flickering television screen. “Terrible, isn’t it?”

“Security guard, according to Gene Coon, I just hung up with him. I wonder if they have any idea who the culprit is but knowing the LAPD, they’ll never find them.” 

“Interesting that they were bitten on the neck,” McCoy says, still watching Carolyn.

“Yeah, like a vampire. But there’s no such thing. Is there.”

“You’re right.”

“Crazy cooks. I’m sure we’re still filming tomorrow.”

“One would hope.”

There’s a long pause, long enough that McCoy begins to say: “Are you still th--”

“Yeah, I’m here. Hey, uh...De, the reason why I called you.”

“Yeah?”

“Listen uh...I know it’s late--”

“It’s only 7:30, Leonard, don’t worry.”

“Alright. Well, I uh. Hey, listen...me and the wife...we uh...things aren’t good at home. I need to get out for awhile and I thought maybe...you know...you’re a calming influence and I really need some of your advice right now.”

“Well, I’m not really--” McCoy keeps watching Carolyn who gasps at the television, “--qualified to give out marriage advice, Leonard. What’d you do, get into an argument?”

“You’re more than qualified. You have a happy marriage, haven’t you been married 20 years?” 

“I suppose so.”

“Well...y’see. How about we go for a...drink and talk for awhile, huh? Get me out of the house.”

McCoy hesitates a moment. “Leonard, I have plenty of booze over here, why don’t you come by the house?”

“I’ll be there in a half hour.”  
__________________  
On to the next chapter...


	12. Chapter 12

“S’matter, De? You seem distracted.” 

They’re out in the back yard, sitting on lawn chairs chairs on the deck. The porch light is on, but it's dim, it's okay, doesn't hurt his eyes, but it is a little annoying. The Kelley's back yard is pretty big for a house of this size, lots of greenery and lovingly tended rose bushes in several different colors. There's a brick barbecue off to one side. He might have liked a house like this, once. 

“Thinking about what happened at Desilu?” Nimoy asks.

McCoy chews on his thumb. Guilt hits him once again. “It’s terrible. Whoever did that to that security guard is a horrible, nasty, vile creature.”

“Well. Don’t worry too much about it. Let the cops deal with it. I’m sure they’re crawling all over the place.”

“What a horrible way to die, via exangunation,” McCoy says.

“How’d you know the guy was exangunated?”

“Wasn't it obvious? Bite marks on the neck, the plasma is extracted through the carotid, sixty seconds later leaving no blood volume in the body.”

Nimoy chuckles. “You sound like a real doctor.” 

He needs Spock’s help. He’s becoming desperate. All it would take is a simple bite on this man’s soft neck and he’d have him again. Then on to William Shatner. They need Captain Kirk. Kirk and Spock would both know what to do. Or maybe they’d just become selfish hungry killers, like he is. 

“It’s gonna happen again,” McCoy says. “Soon.”

Nimoy lights a cigarette. With long, delicate fingers he holds it to his mouth, takes a long drag on it. “What’s gonna happen again?”

“Murder.”

“At Desilu?!” Nimoy’s incredulous. “How do you know that? Come on De, let it go. Isolated incident. Some nut job. It’s Halloween soon. Coincidence. Let the cops handle it, Baby. Nothing we can do.” 

“Maybe you’re right.” McCoy shifts in his seat. Nimoy’s turned, got his neck exposed to him. The man’s blood would taste exquisite, but he has to hold back, only let the blood come into brief contact with his saliva. He’s starving but he has to control himself. Can’t go too far. Just turn him. Turn him now. 

McCoy bites on his own thumb again. “I can’t do it.”

“You’re not drinking your drink,” Nimoy says now looking at him.

McCoy shrugs. “You want it? I haven’t touched it.” Yeah. Get the Human drunk and pliable. Then work up his nerve. He needs Spock back.

“Nah, I’m good.” Nimoy’s stares out into the grass, then over at the rose bushes, then over at the statue in the corner, then back over by the shed. "What do you have in that thing?"

"What thing?"

"That shed."

McCoy shrugs. "Tools."

"Good place to hide a body."

McCoy darts a glance. "A what?"

"Yeah. Perfect size for one. Like a murder shed."

"Don't be ridiculous, Leonard," McCoy says a little too harshly.

Nimoy takes another drag on the cigarette. "I know, I'm terrible. Sure is a nice night out in the Valley. Not too smoggy. Kinda like Westwood right now."

"Hmm," McCoy replies. 

Nimoy gets up, goes close to the shed. 

"Wait, Leonard--" McCoy begins.

“Oh my God. Look at that. You have a croquet set. I love croquet.”

Nimoy draws even closer to the shed. 

McCoy stands up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m setting up your fucking croquet set, Baby, relax!” Nimoy gets even more uncomfortably close to the shed, but the set is lying on the grass, about a meter away from it. Nimoy picks up the set, comes out to the center of the lawn. He opens up the case. "Come on."

“You want to play croquet? Now?”

“Yeah!" Nimoy fishes out the wire hoops. He starts to stick them into the ground. "Why not?”

McCoy shrugs. Maybe it’ll keep his mind off of things for a while. Kelley's sound asleep in there. He picks up a mallet, then goes over to the back door. He shuts off the porch light.

"I can't play croquet in the dark, Baby," Nimoy says. "Are you nuts?"

"Come on, it'll be fun," McCoy tells him.

"Alright, for you I will."

*

McCoy enters the bathroom, sits down on the toilet. Playing croquet with Leonard, laughing, flirting, teasing the man, reminds him so much of his former life with Spock. The private Spock. Nobody got to see the private Spock besides him. That smirking, passionate, loving, teasing Spock. Nobody. But Spock, his beloved, is dead. Why can't he accept that? Leonard is not Spock. Leonard is similar, strikingly so, but he is not him and should not be. He has no right to do what he wants to do to this Human. 

“Don’t,” he whispers to himself. “You have no right. This is a married man, with a life here on Earth. Don’t do this to him.”

Don’t do it.

He buries his face in his hands. He should overload his phaser and disappear. Why is he hesitating? He's a danger to these people. Get out of this place--out of everybody’s hair, he’s destroying lives here. Destroying history the longer he stays here. He’s no longer a doctor, saving lives, helping people. He’s a shadow of his former self. No longer a Human Being. He’s a spectre. A cipher. A fiend. A murderer. 

There’s a soft knock at the bathroom door. 

He lifts up his head. “Yeah?”

“It’s Leonard. Can I come in?”

He gets up, opens up the door. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. Look what I did.” Leonard opens up his hand. The palm. There’s a deep wound. It’s bloody. Bleeding heavily. 

McCoy closes his eyes. The strong iron rich blood fumes fill his nostrils. It’s strange seeing red seeping out of this man. “How did you do injure yourself?” he gulps as he manages to speak. 

“Carolyn,” Leonard says. “I was helping her carve the pumpkin.”

“Her and that damned pumpkin. Get in here.” McCoy pulls the man inside, shuts the door. He sits Nimoy down on the toilet. He clamp his hand onto the Human’s palm. “Just need to stop this flow of bleeding.”

He can’t stand this. It’s like a juicy T-bone steak, flowing out of the man, now filling up the bathroom with its heady aroma. Those desperate hunger pangs hit him once again. 

The bleeding won’t stop. He presses down harder. “You really did a number on your hand, didn’t you.”

“Knife slipped. Carolyn tried to stop the bleeding, but I figured...I figured you....” Leonard’s mouth is close to his. “I figured you could help.”

“You figured since I play a physician on television, I could treat you?” McCoy jokes. “I’d know what to do?” 

Leonard giggles. “Ridiculous, isn’t it. But, the way you talk sometimes...they way you are...you seem like you know exactly what you’re doing. I’m sorry. I’m blurring the line between actor and character.”

“Don’t worry, I often forget that you’re not really a Vulcan.”

“So you know what I’m talking about. Well, sometimes I do feel like a Vulcan. Hard to shut him off.” 

Leonard gives out that adorable, throaty laugh of his. McCoy smiles back, still kneeling down in front of the man. He pulls up his hand. Leonard’s wound begins to bleed again. 

“Not stopping, De. Looks like I’m gonna bleed to death, right here in your bathroom.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna bleed out,” McCoy whispers. “Not on my watch.” He hesitates a moment, brings the wound up to his mouth. Hmmm. Just a little taste. Leonard doesn’t stop him. He releases any pressure from the hand, lets the blood flow right into his mouth. Exquisite. Nimoy sits there and unbelievably lets him do this. 

McCoy licks for a moment, then stops himself, pulls the man’s hand away. 

“I’ll be damned,” Nimoy says. “You healed it. The wound is completely healed. How in the fuck did you do that?”

McCoy stares. Sure enough, the wound is gone. Not just healed up, but gone. 

“Fascinating,” McCoy says. 

Nimoy breathes out a startled half giggle, half gasp. He suddenly pulls McCoy to him by the back of the neck and before McCoy can say a word of protest, meets his mouth. 

McCoy moans in spite of himself.

They stand up at the same time, in a tight embrace. McCoy finds himself deepening the kiss, wants to stay in his arms forever, kissing this man, but he pulls away from the Human. “Wait. Wait, just a moment,” he says, a little breathlessly.

Nimoy’s elated expression grows horrified. He throws a guilty look towards the door. “Oh...God...I’m sorry, De. I shouldn’t have...I shouldn’t have...I was wrong to have done that. I had no right to do--God, what the fuck is the matter with me--I should...oh shit...I--”

McCoy holds onto the man’s arms so he won’t flee the room. “Shhh. It’s alright. I liked it.” 

“You did? You liked it, too?”

“Yeah. Just not here.” Not in this man’s house. 

The guilt and fear in those hazel eyes turns to excitement. “You want to uh...go someplace else? Get the hell out of dodge for awhile?” Leonard is breathing heavily, McCoy can spot the erection trapped in those tight trousers, mirroring his own.

“Uh....” McCoy considers the offer for a moment--he’ll do anything to be with this man, get to know him better. He marvels at how much this human resembles Spock, walks like him even, those same eyes, same hair, same body--he really should leave this man the hell alone--

Kelley will still be asleep for a few more hours. Ah, what the hell. He can slip away for awhile. Give Kelley's wife a feeble excuse. Probably better if he gets far away from her, anyway.

And all the easier to turn this man into Spock. With all the privacy he requires.

“Let’s go,” McCoy tells him.


	13. Chapter 13

Nimoy’s driving his black Buick Riviera, down the winding roads of Sunset Boulevard. It handles the curves like a dream, even if it’s a huge automobile. He doesn't talk much as he concentrates on winding his way up into the canyons, then over to the Griffith Observatory, high in the hills above Los Angeles. 

Nimoy pulls into a secluded cul-de-sac. He stops the car, puts it into park, shuts off the engine. It's dark and quiet. 

McCoy looks out of the passenger side window, marvels at the view, the twinkling lights. “Wow.”

“You act like you’ve never seen LA from up here before.”

“Well, It never ceases to be breathtaking,” McCoy says. “No matter how many times one has...probably seen it.”

“That’s true.” Nimoy turns to him, reaches out. McCoy slides over, lets himself be gathered into the other’s arms. “How’d you do that?”

“How’d I do what?”

“Heal my hand like that. You got some magical powers, De?”

“I guess, I...” McCoy stares into those beautiful dark eyes, “I must.”

“Teach me how. I want to do that, too.”

“Do ya?” All it would take is one little bite and Nimoy or Spock could do it, too.

“Yeah. But...first, I want you.” Nimoy pulls him close and with an intensity that Spock reserved for rare moments, claims his mouth, sliding his tongue in. 

Suddenly Nimoy jerks his head, pulls his mouth away. “Ouch. What the hell was that?”

“Huh?”

“You have some sharp teeth, or something, I don’t know what was. Damn near sliced my tongue in half.”

“Oh." Dammit. "I'm sorry.” 

“What is that in your mouth?”

“Nothing.”

“No, really. I caught a flash of something. Come on, show me. What was that?”

McCoy sighs, then opens his mouth to show him. “Only my incisors.”

“Oh wow. Vampire fangs. Wow, those look real. I get it, for Halloween tomorrow, right?” Nimoy smiles. “Cute. You have those glued on?”

“Yeah. Gotta have the dentist pry them off.”

“Bet that’s gonna cost you a bundle.” Nimoy pulls him over again. 

“You don’t mind my teeth?”

“Fuck no. Vampire fangs are as kinky as fuck, De.”

Nimoy meets his mouth again, his hands are roaming. “You’re so cold, skin is so clammy, you need to warm up a little bit.”

“Hmmm,” McCoy replies. Same old sensations, tingle, he’s relieved at that. The windows of the car begin to fog up. McCoy lets his own hands roam under neath the man’s shirt, touching the soft hair of his chest. 

“Let’s get in the back.” Nimoy jumps over the transmission hump to the back seat, holds out his hands to McCoy.

McCoy hesitates. 

“It’s okay. It’s secluded back here on this road. Nobody will bother us.”

“Been here before, huh?” McCoy smiles. 

“No comment. Come on, Baby.” 

McCoy gives him his hands and lets himself be pulled over and then on top of the human. They grind into each other for a few moments, he hears Nimoy moan softy into his neck. 

“I want to--I want to go down on you,” the Human breathes into his ear. The hands are roaming again, down his belly and trying to undo the button on his trousers. 

“No,” McCoy says. “I’ll do you.”

Nimoy relaxes his hands, gives out another breathy chuckle. “Just don’t bite my dick off with those fangs.”

McCoy slides down, between the Human's legs. He undoes the pants, reaches into the underwear, takes him into his mouth. He listens to the soundtrack of the delighted gasps, groans, chuckles. He's aware the Human thinks this is his co-star but he doesn't care right now, the cock feels the same, the moans are similar, familiar fingers carding his hair.

*

Nimoy tilts his head towards the driver’s side window. “I’m gonna go for a quick piss, alright?”

McCoy nods. “Alright.” 

Nimoy slides out of his arms, gets out of the car, walks several meters ahead. As McCoy watches the man, he pulls out the communicator from his pocket. He flips it open. “McCoy to Enterprise." 

Much to his amazement, he hears: “ _Enterprise, Scott here. Doctor? We’ve been worried sick about you! Couldn’dna contact you... We canna beam anybody--_ ” There's static.

“Scotty! Never mind that. Something's interferring with communications."

" _Aye, I dinnae know what--_ " More static.

"Scotty--?” McCoy spies Nimoy walking back to the car. “Scotty. I have to go. I’ll check back in sometime in several hours.”

“ _How are the captain and Mr. Spock? We cannae contact--_ ”

“McCoy out.” He pops the communicator shut and hides it in his jacket as soon as Leonard gets into the car. 

“Hi,” Nimoy says. 

“Hello.”

“I have a key to this observatory. Want to...uh...take a look around?”

“How do you manage to have the key?” McCoy asks.

“Throw these people enough money and they’ll do anything. Maybe one day they’ll rename this place, after me.” Leonard snickers. “Or maybe the planetarium, or at least one of their theatres.”

“The Leonard Nimoy theatre,” McCoy says. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“Better than Griffith W. Griffith.”

“Griffith W. Griffith, who’s that?”

“You don’t know who that is? Guy who this place is named after? Last name is the same as his first.” Nimoy gets out of the car. “Come on, De. I’m sure you’ve been inside.”

“Well, actually no. Never have.”

“You’ve been living in the Valley for what...twenty years now and you’ve never been inside the Griffith Observatory?”

“Well no.” McCoy shrugs.

“Damned Valley snob. Well, hell, come on. It’s my favorite spot for necking. Inside the planetarium. And they have a massive telescope. Can see Jupiter with it.”

“Really?” McCoy says.

After a short hike, they reach the observatory door. Leonard puts his key into the lock. It turns for him. “Bingo,” Leonard says. 

McCoy opens his mouth up to speak but Leonard shushes him. He goes behind the desk, does something under there. 

He rejoins McCoy. “Had to disable the cameras and the alarm.”

“That’s fortuitous.”

“Yeah. Don’t want the LAPD showing up. Not when they’re crawling all over Desilu. Filming better not be canceled. I mean I get paid no matter what but those folks on different contracts, a per show basis--I mean are you on that? Or did you agent get you a better deal?”

McCoy shrugs. “I have no idea.”

“You don’t know your own show contract?” Leonard shoots him a wary glance. “You just don’t want to tell me. It’s none of my business, right?”

“Something like that,” McCoy replies. 

“Well, anyway.” They reach the door to the planetarium. “Here’s my favorite place in entire world.”

“This place?”

“Yeah.”

They enter, it doesn’t look like much. It features a large white, domed ceiling. There’s an odd contraption in the center of the room. There’s rows upon rows of comfortable seating. “Sit down, De. Prepare to be amazed.”

Nimoy goes behind a desk, pushes a button. The odd contraption in the center of the room, moves up. The room darkens, and suddenly the ceiling disappears, showing an entire universe of stars. 

“What happened to the ceiling?” McCoy whispers.

“It’s still there. That’s a projection.”

“You guys can do that?” 

Nimoy chuckles. “Well, I can’t do it--they do it. Isn’t it marvelous?”

McCoy has to say he is impressed. It’s not real but it’s looks absolutely beautiful. 

“See, and it’s not quite so cold in here so you can warm up a little bit.” Nimoy’s voice is a husky whisper. They snuggle together, staring upwards. Nimoy gives him a small peck on the lips. They're quiet for many long moments. 

Then there’s a display of planets, well, all of them in the Milky Way Galaxy. Pluto shows up. McCoy smiles at that. “Pluto’s not a planet.”

“What are you talking about? Sure it is.”

“It lost its planetary status in....” McCoy halts. “Well. Does this thing ever show other planets in other galaxies, besides this one, or is this all there is represented?”

“What are you talking about, De? There’s no other planets in other galaxies. Earth is the only inhabited planet.”

McCoy sneaks the man a glance. Better not to say more. “I bet you wish there was, though,” he says instead. “Don’t you? Ever wish the Enterprise was a real space ship?”

“Oh...do I ever,” Nimoy replies. “I would really like to explore the universe, like Spock does, as a science officer, visit other alien planets. I can’t wait until they put a man on the moon.”

“That hasn’t happened yet,” McCoy whispers.

“They’re working on it, right? Haven’t you been following the news? NASA? Maybe it’ll happen by the end of the decade. That would really be nice.”

“Sure.” McCoy nods. “Sure.” 

They’re silent again as they stare at the projection of the planets, then it goes back to the stars. 

“Thanks for coming out with me, De. This means a lot.”

“Believe me, Leonard, the pleasure is all mine,” McCoy tells him and squeezes his hand. 

“Where’d you learn how to give a blowjob like that? That’s the best I’ve ever had. In my whole entire life.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. Why didn’t you let me go down on you? Are you afraid I’d be terrible at it? I learn quick.”

“I dunno.”

Realization seems to hit the Human. The eyes change from excitement to guilt. “Oh, shit. Look. I’m sorry. I know you’re a married man. A happily married man. I feel terrible--I shouldn’t have done that. Made you...do this with me.”

“You’re married too,” McCoy tells him. “Aren’t you?”

Nimoy takes a deep breath, dips his head, his shoulders convulse. He’s crying. Sobbing. 

“Leonard?” McCoy reaches over and caresses his shoulders. “Hey. Hey. It’s alright. It’s alright.”

“No it’s not. Sandy and I, we’re getting a divorce. I walked out on her today, like the horrible bastard that I am, I just took my clothes and I walked away from that house. Left everything behind.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nimoy shakes his head. “It’s been heading that way for awhile. I’ve been despondent for months. And I realized that I....” Leonard’s trembling. McCoy slides closer to him, takes him into his arms. “I realized that I that I’m attracted to men...or rather maybe it’s a man in particular. And it’s you. It’s you, De. I’m in love with you. And I’m sorry. I have no right to be in love with you. I have no right to take you away from your lovely wife.”

“Well, I--” He's not De. This man is in love with De, not McCoy. He sighs. 

“I know it can’t happen between us. There’s no chance at us being together. But I had to tell you. I didn't want to cause trouble between you and your wife. But I couldn’t keep it inside any longer.”

“I’m glad you told me,” McCoy says.

"I'm sorry. I fucked everything up. I've destroyed my life and yours, too. I can't help it though." Nimoy leans over to kiss him again. Then he pulls away. “The tabloids are gonna have a field day with this one. When they find out I’ve walked out on my wife, they are going freak out. Isn’t it a good thing that I ripped out the security cameras? So I don’t drag you down with me?” He barks out a bitter laugh.

They are silent for even longer, just sitting side by side, holding hands. “Want to see the telescope?” Nimoy asks. “I want to look at Jupiter.”

McCoy stands up with him. “Yeah. That’s a great idea. I want to see it too.”

*

The telescope at the top of the observatory proves massive. Nimoy peers through the peephole. “Ah hah. Jupiter. My favorite planet. You can even see the red spot. Here, take a look.”

“Why is Jupiter your favorite planet?”

Nimoy reaches for McCoy’s hand, intwines his fingers in his. “Because it’s beautiful, just like you are. It’s big. Powerful. Full of storms. Passionate. Immense.” Leonard grins. “And when Jupiter is in Retrograde, exiting things happen. Sometimes good, sometimes bad.” 

Nimoy squints through the telescope again. “That’s odd.”

“What is?”

“When does Jupiter go into retrograde?”

“Early in the year, usually, why?”

“It’s the wrong time. It’s late in the year. October. Jupiter hasn’t moved. It should have moved.”

McCoy squints through the ‘scope. Jupiter looms into focus. Stationary Jupiter. It is amazing the technology that these people have to even view this planet in this way. Primitive, but still. He moves away from the scope. “You’re right. It’s stationary.”

“Shouldn’t be like that, right now.”

“An anomaly,” McCoy says. 

“Fascinating,” Nimoy whispers in Spock’s voice. 

McCoy stares at him. It always brings chills when the Human talks that way. His eyes tear up. 

“De, every time I mention Spock or say anything in character, you have this hooded expression, like you’ve lost an old friend.”

McCoy manages a smile. “I just...like the way you say ‘fascinating’ I guess.”

“You miss Spock?” Leonard nudges him with his elbow. “He’ll be back at work, tomorrow. Today--tonight, I get to be Leonard. Bad enough that damned Vulcan takes over my life most days.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

“It’s difficult, not being able to express my emotions during the day, for those long of hours. Makes me crazy sometimes. I tend to overcompensate with my emotions on my time off. I like to live things to the fullest. Feel things as much as I can. Experience things.”

“You’re a sensualist.”

“You bet your ass I am,” Nimoy says with all the passion he can seemingly muster. He grins. "Let me hear you say something as Bones."

McCoy chuckles. "I'm a doctor, not a bricklayer?"

Nimoy nods. "That's perfect. Hey, let me get one last longing look at Stationary Jupiter before we leave. It’s getting late. Better get you home, before you turn into a pumpkin, right?”

Nimoy looks through the telescope. He gasps. 

“What is it?” McCoy asks and suddenly he suspects what the Human has seen. 

Nimoy backs away from the scope. “I need my glasses, I’m definately seeing things.” He shakes his head. 

“Wait a minute, I--”

Nimoy reaches into his pocket, pulls out and dons his black rimmed glasses. He squints through the telescope again. “Holy shit. That’s. That’s the Enterprise in orbit. Somebody’s gotta be playing a trick on me. Gene Roddenberry! I bet it’s him. Or you. Are you playing tricks De? It is almost Halloween.”

“I’m not playing tricks. But I think you are hallucinating.”

“I’m not. Hell I can even see the running lights of the thing. None of the models on the show has even been this detailed. Here you take a look.”

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

“What the hell is that?” Nimoy asks. 

“What’s what?” McCoy replies.

“That beep. Sounds like the Glenn Glenn communicator sound effect.” Nimoy reaches out and feels at the lump in McCoy’s jacket. “What is that?”

McCoy gives him a sheepish glance before he pulls out the communicator, opens it. “McCoy here.”

“ _Dr. McCoy, checking in with you._ ”

“Lieutenant, I told you not to call me. I would check in later.”

“ _Apologies, Doctor. We have not been able to contact the captain nor Mr. Spock for quite some time_.”

“This is Spock,” Nimoy replies. He winks at McCoy. “Maintain radio silence, Lieutenant, as Dr. McCoy has ordered.”

“ _Acknowledged, Mr. Spock._ ”

“Spock out.”

McCoy flips the communicator shut. 

“How in the fuck did we just do that?” Nimoy demands. “We shouldn’t have been able to talk to Nichelle like that.”

McCoy shrugs, backs away from him. 

“Oh no no, you get back here.” Nimoy gives chase, whips around him and corners him. “Come on, De. How did you do that? Walkie talkie?”

“Yeah,” McCoy says. “Walkie talkie.”

“No way. There’s no antennae on it. Lemmie see that communicator again.”

“No.”

“Lemmie see it!”

“Dammit! No.”

“Why do I see the Enterprise orbiting overhead?”

“I dunno.”

“This is beautiful. Gene put you up to this?” Nimoy shakes his head. “This is just great. Play on my feelings. I poured my heart out to you and this...tonight was just way to play a prank on me. Just fucking great. De, I thought you were...I thought you were different then those guys at the studio. Just a bunch of nasty pranksters.”

“There’s no prank! Alright, you know what, Leonard?” McCoy snaps. “Here, you want to see my communicator? Here! Look at it.” He hands it over to the Human. 

Nimoy inspects it, raises an eyebrow, exactly like Spock would do. “It appears to be...real.”

“It is,” McCoy finally admits in a halting voice. “It is real.”

“It can’t be real. De, how would you get ahold of a working communicator? How would you be able to even build something like this?”

“I’m not DeForest Kelley,” McCoy says. “Alright? I’m not De.”

“What are you talking about? If you’re not De Kelley, who are you then?”

“I’m...Leonard McCoy.”

Nimoy stares at him for a second then breaks out into a huge guffaw. “Bones? You can’t be Bones. Dr. McCoy is only a character on television. Captain Kirk, Spock, everybody, they’re not real. The Enterprise doesn’t really exist. I don’t know how in the hell you managed, or somebody managed, maybe Irvin Feinberg built it, but how, I can’t even begin to fathom how they managed it.”

“I don’t know how else to prove it to you, but I am Dr. McCoy. I’m from the future. The 23rd century. The Enterprise is real.”

“De. De. I think you really believe what you’re saying. I think you’ve flipped your lid. Maybe I should get you a doctor.”

McCoy scratches his head. “That’s funny. I am a doctor.”

“If that’s really the Enterprise up there, I want to beam aboard and see it for myself. Prove it to me.”

“That’s not a...that’s not a very good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because is not a good answer. It’s illogical. Where’s Kirk and Spock anyway? Why can’t the Enterprise get in contact with them?”

McCoy opens his mouth then closes it. “Listen, I think you should take me back to the house.”

“De’s house?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re staying at DeForest Kelley’s house,” Nimoy says.

“Correct.”

“So, if what you tell me is true, if you’re not De, then where the hell is he?”

McCoy takes a huge breath, lets it out, slowly. “Take me back home, will ya?”

“Sure thing.” Nimoy gives him a dirty look. "Bones."

*

They don’t say a word to each other on the return trip. Nimoy pulls into the driveway on Greenleaf Street.

“Well, I guess this is where I get out,” McCoy says.

“Yeah.” Nimoy doesn’t look at him.

“You uh...want to stay here? I have a couch you’re welcome to sleep on.”

“That’s rich,” Nimoy says with a chuckle. “This isn’t your house, supposedly, but you’re offering me somebody else’s couch? I mean where do you have De hidden? Tied up someplace? Hiding in your murder shed? Besides, you know as well as I do, me staying the night here wouldn’t be a good idea, now would it.”

“Look, I don’t know what possessed me to tell you I was Dr. McCoy. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“It was a prank, right De?” Those dark eyes so are full of pain, it kills McCoy to look into them.

“Sure. I’m sorry. A nasty prank. That's all it was.”

“Well that’s the cast and crew of Star Trek for ya,” Nimoy says. He shakes his head, ruefully. 

“Hey, where are you gonna go, if you aren’t going back home?”

“I’ll be alright. I’ll sleep in my dressing room, at Desilu.”

“You sure?" McCoy asks. "With a killer on the loose?”

“Awww, any killer is long gone, who’d kill somebody then stick around, right?” 

“Right." McCoy pauses, then says: "Leonard, do me a favor, don’t tell anybody about the working communicator.”

Nimoy shakes his head but doesn’t say anything. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you at Desilu tomorrow,” McCoy says. 

“Yeah,” Nimoy replies in a harsh whisper. “Tomorrow. Readthrough. Should be fun. Right?”

McCoy gets out of the car. The human peels out of the driveway, leaving McCoy standing there watching. 

He flips open his communicator. "McCoy to Enterprise." Nothing. 

McCoy heads to the backyard, through the gate, around to the shed. He opens it up to check on Kelley. The man lays on the ground, motionless. McCoy scans him to make sure he’s alright then shoots him with another sedative. That will last another 6 hours, then he’s got to let this man go free. Can’t keep him like this or he’ll kill him. 

He locks up the shed and goes over to sit in the middle of the lawn. The croquet set is still set up. He sits down next to a mallet. He can contact the ship near the observatory, but nowhere else. The jamming must be weak up there. Why? But...he can't go back to the ship anyway. As Kelley had said, he is trapped. Can't change Nimoy into Spock. And what about when he needs to feed tomorrow, or the next day or the next? Should he drive up to the observatory and have Scotty beam down some plasma? Eventually they’re going to get suspicious. Damn his indecisiveness. Must be a side effect of the vampirism.

Suddenly he hears munching. It’s the Kelley’s turtle. He reaches over and pats it on its shell. It looks up at him, calmly chewing on the grass. 

He heads inside the house. 

Tomorrow he’ll figure out what to do. Tomorrow.


	14. Chapter 14

The next morning, they’re all gathered around a table on a bare soundstage: McCoy, Bill Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, Jimmy Doohan, Walter Koenig, Nichelle Nichols, Joe Pevney, the DP, Gene Roddenberry, Gene Coon. The guest cast: William Schallert, William Campbell, Stanley Adams and the writer, David Gerrold. Except this time the kid's not at all so confident. 

“Hey, Bones, you ol’ galactic space quack! How the hell are ya?” William Campbell slaps McCoy hard on the back. The man pours a cup of coffee, helps himself to one of those ever present donuts. 

Most of the gathered light cigarettes and now there's a cloud of smoke up above them. McCoy coughs a little.

“Good morning,” Gene Coon says in a grouchy, hurried voice. He hands out copies of the script, then slams the extras into a stack at the center of the table. “There’s obviously gonna have to be some cuts to this thing. Thanks to Gerrold’s boner for his IBM Selectric typewriter.”

“What the devil is an IBM Selectric typewriter?” McCoy mumbles under his breath.

“Fucking kid and his ‘Elite’ twelve pitch,” Campbell mutters back to him. 

“Quite down, folks. Alright. This thing is called ‘A Fuzzy Thing Happened to Me‘ and obviously we’re gonna have to change the title--”

“I already did,” Gerrold replies.

“You did?” Gene Coon asks.

“Yeah, it’s called ‘The Trouble With Tribbles’.”

McCoy begins to sputter and cough even more. Campbell pats him back. McCoy holds up his hand so he stops it. 

“Fine, ‘The Trouble With Tribbles‘ it is. I like it. We’re using it. That peachy with you, Gene?” Gene Coon glances over at Roddenberry. 

“Sounds gorgeous, Baby.”

“Now about this fucking script. We’ll give it a gentle table read, see what happens. Obviously it’s too fucking long. Kid thinks we’re shooting ‘War and Peace’ here.” The assembled at the table laugh as the man glares daggers over at the hapless writer. Then looks back at Shatner. “Quiet down, folks. Whenever you’re ready, guys.”

 

_FADE IN:_

_TEASER_

_INT. SHIP’S GALLEY_

_KIRK is conducting a white glove inspection. As usual the Enterprise is spotless. With him is SMITH, a young crewman with a clipboard, making notes._

_Suddenly a WALL PANEL beeps. SPOCK’S VOICE comes from the bridge._

_SPOCK’S VOICE_  
 _Captain we are recieving an emergency distress call from the trading post._

_KIRK_  
 _What’s the matter? Are they being attacked by the Klingons?”_

_SPOCK’S VOICE_  
 _They didn’t say. They’re broadcasting a maximum security request. The presnce of the Enterprise is urgently needed in order to maintain the secirty of the trading post._

_KIRK_  
 _All ahead, Mr. Spock. Go to Warp Factor Five._

 

Gene Coon chews on his fingernail, takes a long drag on his cigarette. “Um. My mother could write a better teaser than this. Fuck this teaser. I feel like taking this teaser out back and shooting it’s brains out. I hate it with every fibre of my being.”

“Me too. I’m already rewriting it,” Gerrold says. 

“Good kid. Hey Gene,” Gene Coon says, “didn’t ‘I say this is a great writer? Didn’t I say that?”

“You sure did, Baby,” Roddenberry replies.

“Don’t make me a liar, Gerrold,” Gene Coon tells him. “Alright, act one. At your leasure, gentlemen.”

 

_ACT ONE_

_INT. BRIDGE_

_The ship is in a condition of battle readiness. All crew members are at their posts, waiting for the signal to fight. Kirk contacts the mayor of the trading post, a man named JOHN LURRY_

_KIRK_  
 _What’s the emergency, John? I thought you were being attacked._

_LURRY_  
 _Uh, well, Jim--there is an emergency, of a sort, but we’re not being attacked. Perhaps you’d better come to my office and I’ll explain._

_INT. LURRY’S OFFICE_

_LURRY, KIRK, SPOCK, BARIS and DARVIN are present._

_KIRK_  
 _So, what’s the emergency?_

_BARIS_  
 _(imperiously)_  
 _I ordered the emergency!_

_KIRK_  
 _Who are you?_

_LURRY_  
 _(hurridly making introductions)_  
 _Jim, this is Nilz Baris. Nilz Baris, Captain James T. Kirk of the Enterprise. Jim, Mr. Baris is the developer of quadro-triticale._

_KIRK_  
 _What’s quadro-triticale?_

_BARIS_  
 _(motioning to his assistant)_  
 _This is quadro-triticale._

_KIRK_  
 _(looks at assistant)_  
 _Him?_

_BARIS_  
 _This is quadro-triticale_

_The assistant pulls out some grain samples from his briefcase. He hands them to Baris, who hands them to Kirk. Kirk glances at it only briefly, then hands it to a curious Spock._

_KIRK_  
 _Wheat. So what about it? Why did you call me here? What’s the emergency?_

 

They read on.

The first hearty laugh occurs during McCoy and Spock's argument scene in sickbay in Act II. McCoy remembers having this very same argument with Spock. Now it's just eerie. But he joins in the laughter with the rest of them all the same.

There's some very nice scenes involving McCoy dissecting the little creatures. He also remembers doing that in precisely the same way. The scenes are written accurately to his satisfaction, medically speaking. Gerrold seems to be a smart kid. 

 

_TAG_

_BACK ON THE ENTERPRISE BRIDGE now strangely free of Fuzzies._

_KIRK_  
 _Gentlemen, I see the bridge is free of Fuzzies._

_McCOY_  
 _It was all Scotty's doing._

_SCOTT_  
 _Aye. I used the transporter._

_KIRK_  
 _But where did you transport them? You didn't just transport them out into outer space, did you?_

_SCOTT_  
 _No sir. That would be inhuman._

_KIRK_  
 _Then where, Mr. Scott?_

_SCOTT_  
 _This is off the record sir?_

_KIRK_  
 _Off the record? Why?_

_SCOTT_  
 _You wouldn't want to be a party to an act of war, would you?_

_KIRK_  
 _Mr. Scott, would you kindly tell me what you did with the Fuzzies?_

_SCOTT_  
 _I gave them to the Klingon's sir._

_KIRK_  
 _You gave them to the Klingons?_

_SCOTT_  
 _Aye, sir. I transported them smack into the middle of their engine room._

_FADE OUT_

_THE END._

 

“Oh, this is rough," Gene Coon says, shaking his head. "And it’s twenty fucking pages over. Alright everybody, lets break for lunch.”

The cast takes off in a multitude of directions. McCoy locates Kelley’s chair in the corner of the soundstage and plonks down into it. 

Suddenly Nimoy appears at his side. “Hey De.” 

“Hi, Leonard,” McCoy says. “Look, I’m sorry about last night.”

Nimoy waves him off. “It’s okay.”

“No, no. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“That was crazy, you know that? I don’t know how you managed to pull off an illusion like that. Working communicator? The Enterprise? Not to mention those realistic vampire teeth. I mean...I laughed at it. Later on on my couch in my dressing room. I found it funny. You’re a funny guy.”

“You could of stayed over night at my house.”

Nimoy reaches over, touches McCoy on the arm. “Not with your wife there. I mean, I feel bad enough already about what...happened. I shouldn’t have been so selfish, so interested in only my own gratification. I mean I liked it. A lot. It felt right. So damned right. Like we’ve always been together. But...it shouldn’t happen again.” Nimoy gives him a longing look. “Between us.”

“Did you fix things with your wife?”

“Oh no. We’re still getting a divorce.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can I bum a smoke off of you?” 

“Sure.” 

Nimoy reaches over, slides out the pack from McCoy’s shirt pocket. 

McCoy flicks the lighter, lights the Human’s cigarette for him. “Why don’t you keep the pack, Leonard?”

“Because it belongs to you. But as a matter of fact, I haven’t seen you smoking lately.”

“I quit.”

“Cold turkey? No kidding.”

“So you slept in your dressing room last night?”

“Yeah. You know what’s funny? No cops hanging around. Desilu was completely deserted. Probably already did their expert police work and then went to the bar afterwards. Well, see ya later. Thanks for the smokes.” Leonard walks off. 

Several minutes later, Nimoy comes rushing back to him. “Have you seen my bike?”

“Your bike? Sorry, no.”

Nimoy smacks his hands together. “I can’t believe this. It’s gone. Somebody stole my goddamned bicycle. Whoever it is, I’m gonna sue for harassment.”

“Oh no. That’s terrible. You can do that?”

“Yeah, they’re causing me emotional distress. That means something. Dollars. If you see my bicycle, De, let me know, okay?”

“Of course I will. What kind of an asshole steals a bike from a television studio?”

“Now I have to walk to the commisssary like the rest of these jerks. You comin’ De?” 

“No. Not hungry.”

“Suit yourself.” The man storms off in a huff. 

Seconds later, Bill Shatner saunters up. “Psst, De. Have you seen Lenny’s bike?”

“Sorry, I haven’t.”

Shatner smirks. “Good.”

McCoy raises an eyebrow. 

“And if you do see it,” Shatner adds, “you haven’t seen it. Got it, Bones?”

“I think so.” McCoy rolls his eyes. He gets up from his chair, away from Bill Shatner, away from these crazy people before he’s tempted again to turn the captain back into the captain.

First things first, however. Lunch time for everybody else. It should also be for him. He can’t stand it any longer. The hunger pangs are excruciating. He balls up his fist, shoves it into his mouth. Stop. But he can no longer ignore the hunger.

He wanders over to the edge of the empty soundstage. There’s a corridor just off to the side. He goes though, passes the first office, glances over. It’s occupied by Gerrold, the writer, hunched over a desk. 

McCoy enters the tiny room about the size of a broom closet. “Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” Gerrold replies but doesn’t look up. The kid’s taking a black felt tipped marker pen to the script, marking it up. 

“What are you doing?”

“My script came out a little long. I’m cutting it.”

“Oh? What parts are you cutting?” McCoy steps in for a closer look, leans over the kid.

“One of your scenes.”

McCoy looks over the kid’s shoulder. “Hey, David, you’re going about this all wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. What you want to do is cut out some of the other characters. Some of the unnecessary ones. Like Kirk and Spock.”

Gerrold pauses what he’s doing to look up at him and smirk. “Sounds like a great idea. But I’ll have to think about it.”

“You do that.” McCoy notices a ball of fluff on the desk and picks it up. It’s the same dimensions but much lighter than a Tribble. Can’t hear it coo, or trill nor does it breathe. A fake Tribble. “I’ll be damned,” he says.

“Just got to build about 500 more of those things,” Gerrold tells him. “That’s what I told Roddenberry. Think that will be enough? They say that’s all that’s in the budget.”

McCoy examines more closely the fluffy object in his hand. “All you gotta do is stop feeding these things. They stop eating, they stop breeding. Simple as that.”

Gerrold stares at him. “God that’s perfect for act three. Thanks! I’m gonna use that! You sure sound like an authority on Tribbles, Mr. Kelley.”

McCoy meets his eyes, licks his lips. “I’m a doctor. It’s my job to be an expert on any and all alien creatures. No matter how cute, how furry they might be.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Gerrold smiles again. 

McCoy sets the Tribble down on the desk, on top of the script all the while holding the kid’s gaze. “Tribbles are kind of like vampires.”

Gerrold chuckles. “Vampires? What...they’re both not real?”

McCoy smiles. “You know what happens when you feed a vampire?”

“You get a bunch of hungry little vampires?”

“No. You get a happy vampire.”

“Not a fat one?”

“We don’t get to eat enough to get fat,” McCoy says. “At least, I don’t.”

Gerrold gives out an uncomfortable cough at that. “Interesting. Well, uh...I guess I’d better get back to cutting my script.”

“Now wait a minute. You’re mine,” McCoy whispers.

“Huh?” Gerrold says. “Yours? What are you--”

“Shhh.” McCoy reaches out and with a single finger, tits up the writer’s face. “You’re perfect.” 

Gerrold becomes entranced. Frozen. 

“Good,” McCoy says. “That’s good.”


	15. Chapter 15

De awakens with a gasp. He shivers as he sits up in the dark. He reaches up to grab the chain and turn on the lightbulb. The shed. That bastard hid him in the toolshed. 

He tries the door. It’s locked. He bangs on it, screaming out: “Carolyn!” 

He glances around to try to find something to help him break his way out, any tool that he can use. 

He spies the hatchet that he uses to chop up firewood. 

He grabs it, the metal is cold in his hands. He swings it, chops down the door. He squints at the bright sun. He runs out of the shed, hatchet in hand. He stumbles down the yard, gets to the back door to the house. 

He bangs on the door. “Carolyn! Carolyn! Carolyn!” She’s not there, she has to be there. If that bastard did something to her... “CAROLYN!” he shrieks out. He has to get in. He swings the hatchet against the screen door. It opens for him. He swings the hatchet against the glass on the back door. It shatters. He reaches inside to pop the lock and open it. 

He runs into the house, hatchet in hand. 

There’s a shriek. Oh, God, Carolyn’s being attacked!

*

McCoy draws closer. Gerrold stares up at him. Unblinking. Unmoving. Trapped. 

“I’m sorry, David,” McCoy tells him. “I don’t want to do this...but I have to.” He leans over, meets the writer’s mouth in a gentle kiss. 

He pulls away. "No hard feelings, huh?" He shows the hapless writer his sharp, white fangs. 

A single tear streaks down Gerrold’s face.

*

“I’ll save you, Carolyn!” De shrieks out. 

Carolyn stands in front of the marble fireplace, hands on her face. She’s white as a sheet. She screams. 

“Carolyn!” he yells out. 

She screams again. “Stay away from me!”

“Honey! It’s me, De!”

She screams again. 

He looks around, there’s nobody here but he and her and he wonders what she keeps screaming at. He then realizes what he must look like: Three days growth of beard, clad in smelly pajamas and robe, in bare feet, clutching a hatchet in his hands. He looks like a madman. A raving lunatic. 

He drops the hatchet. It makes a loud clatter as it hits the marble fireplace. “Carolyn, Honey, relax. It’s me.”

She’s crying, shaking her head. “De? How can you be here? You’re supposed to be at work.”

“Where is he? That bastard!”

“You went to Desilu.”

“Listen to me, Carolyn. That guy wasn’t me. He just looked like me. He was an impostor.”

Carolyn lets out another horrified shriek. He finally gets close enough to her to take her into his arms. “It’s alright, Honey. It’s alright, I’m here now. I’m here.”

“That man wasn’t you?”

“No.”

“But he looked, sounded, exactly like you. Is this some kind of a joke?”

He pulls back and takes a look at her. “I wish it was.”

“He took your car. De, so help me if that was a prank, I’m throwing you out of here on your ass!”

“Oh, Honey, please, believe me. This is no joke. No prank, there is somebody pretending to be me.”

“Oh my God.”

“And I have to stop him. What time did he leave for Desilu?”

“Several hours ago, De.”

“Shit!” He runs into the bedroom, rummaging through his belongings on the night stand. “That bastard took my wallet. My car keys. Why’d you let him take my damned car?” 

“I thought he was you!” Carolyn yells. “I’ll let you use my car.”

“What about my driver’s license? If he’s got that, I can’t drive.”

“Sure you can.”

“Cops might stop me. I’ll get a ticket. I can't get a damned ticket.”

"But it's an emergency! There's somebody impersonating you!"

"Like the cop's gonna believe that crazy story!"

“Then...I’ll drive you to Desilu.”

“No, too dangerous. You stay here. I’ll take a cab.” He runs to the bathroom, yelling back: “I gotta get cleaned up first, I stink like a game animal. I’ve gotta find him. I’ve got to get to Desilu!”

*

McCoy licks his lips, then leans even further over. He clamps his mouth on the writer's neck. His sharp insisors penetrate the soft, exposed skin. It’s too late. Gerrold doesn’t scream but his mouth opens in terror. Gerrold's eyes grow wide as saucers. 

McCoy’s so ravenous, once he’s got the taste of blood in his mouth, he can’t stop. He keeps sucking and drinking it in, keeps sucking and sucking and sucking and sucking. 

Gerrold emits a horrific, strangled, ghastly noise. His fingers fan out, then bend into claws.

*

“Is the impostor at Desilu?” Carolyn asks. “What’s he doing there?”

De meets her eyes again. “I’m almost too afraid to think of what he’s up to. I hope he doesn’t get my ass fired.”

 _Squeeeeeeeeeal! Beep!_

“What is that noise?” Carolyn asks.

“I don’t know but it sounds familiar. Sounds like it's coming from the bottom drawer.” De bends down and opens it. Underneath a black undershirt, trousers and shoes, he finds a-- “Well, would you look at that?”

“What is it?”

He pulls the object out. It’s heavy. Funny. He knows exactly how to operate it. “This, my dear, is a working tri-corder. He must have hidden it here.”

“It can’t be. That’s a prop.”

“Oh no.” He pushes the button and it responds precisely to his touch and he knows exactly, instinctively how to operate it. “This is real. Carolyn. That guy who’s impersonating me he’s--You want to...hear something crazy?”

“Sure.”

“That man is none other than Dr. Leonard McCoy himself.”

“You mean the character you play on television?”

“Yup.”

“I thought ‘Star Trek’ was science fiction.”

“I thought so, too. But as turns out, Dr. McCoy is real. The real McCoy.”

“There’s no such person, De. Dr. McCoy's only a character. You can’t be serious.”

He continues pushing buttons to the tri-corder. “He is real. As real as you and I.”

Carolyn brings her hands up to her face. “Oh my God. Oh my God!”

He manages to call up McCoy's last log entries. The doctor intends on using his powers as a vampire to reorganize the body of Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner, turn them into none other than a replacement Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk. The man’s grief is palatable but-- 

“Oh no. He can’t--” De gasps. “He can’t do this. He has no right to do that to them. What hell is the matter with this guy? That goes against everything that I thought Dr. McCoy would be like. This isn’t physician behavior, it isn’t rational. It’s the behavior of an animal.”

“What’s going on?”

He sighs and says. “Well, honey, Dr. McCoy is not only a real person. He’s a vampire!”

*

On the floor, lays Gerrold’s exanguanated corpse. 

“Oh...no.” McCoy leans his head forward, he tastes bile in his throat. “What did I just do? What did I just do?!” 

He blinks the tears from his eyes as he pulls his type I phaser out of his pocket. He takes aim and presses the trigger. Gerrold’s body disappears in a brief flash of white.

Now for himself. He sets the phaser to overload. It begins to hum.

*

“A vampire?” Carolyn looks downright skeptical. 

“Yeah!” De replies.

“Oh right. For Halloween.”

“No, that’s only a coincidence--I think. But, listen, Dr. McCoy wants to turn Leonard and Bill into his shipmates.”

“How?”

“Apparently, a vampire can alter the DNA of a living being, turn them into somebody else. Turn William Shatner into Captain Kirk and turn Leonard Nimoy into Mr. Spock. A simple bite on the neck. That's all it takes."

“But why? What about Spock and Kirk? They really exist, too, right?”

“They were killed. By other vampires. At the Galleria.”

“There's vampires living in Sherman Oaks Galleria, over here?”

“Yeah.”

“Leonard will change from a human to a Vulcan? Just like that? The real Mr. Spock?”

“That is precisely what I am saying.” De reaches down into the bottom of the drawer, draws out the doctor’s communicator. “Why'd he leave this here, too?” He notes that McCoy's type I phaser is gone. 

With a flick of his wrist he opens the communicator. It chirps. He clears his throat and says: “McCoy to Enterprise.”

There’s a crackle of static, then: “ _Enterprise, Scott here_.”

De flicks a glance over at Carolyn. “Scotty, beam me up. Right now.”

“ _Stand by_.”

To Carolyn’s shocked expression, he hears the hum. He feels an odd icky sicky feeling take hold of him. He’s completely immobile, can’t move. 

Carolyn fades from his view. 

*

The humming grows louder. Just a few more seconds. 

“David?” Gene Roddenberry’s voice bellows out, coming closer. “Where the hell are ya?”

McCoy shuts off the overload. He stuffs the phaser back into his pocket as Roddenberry appears at the doorway. “Say, De? You seen David?”

“No,” McCoy says. “But he left his script here.”

“Oh good!” Roddenberry lunges over to the desk, picks it up. “It’s those cuts we’re waiting for. Took the kid long enough.”

“Yeah,” McCoy says. 

“We’re gonna send this to mimeo. Say, De, everybody’s getting into costume and make-up. Gonna shoot a scene this afternoon. How’s that sound, Baby?”

“Sounds...fine.”

“Well, Baby gotta go. Time’s a wasting.”

“Yeah. Sure is.”

Roddenberry takes a step, halts a moment, spins around. “Say, De?”

“Yeah?”

“You cut your mouth open? There’s blood smeared all over your lips. I guess no close ups for you today.”

“Oh,” McCoy says. He quickly wipes it off. 

“Why don’t you go visit the set nurse. Get something for that, huh?”

“Thanks, Gene, I will,” McCoy replies.

_______________  
on to the next chapter....


	16. Chapter 16

De materializes in the transporter room of the Enterprise. The real Enterprise. Wow. He feels the buzz and throb of the engines beneath his feet. The transporter room is all enclosed, no wilded set. The console nearby is alive with lights and activity. He’s never seen the likes of this before or heard these noises in real life. It’s unsettling. A real starship.

Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott stands behind the controls.

De jumps off the pads. “Scotty!”

“Dr. McCoy! What the devil happened to you? Why are ye wearing a bathrobe? Where’s the Captain and Mr. Spock?”

“Never mind what happened to me, Scotty and I’m not Dr. McCoy!”

Scott tilts his head. “Ach...you’re not? Who are you, then?”

“I’m DeForest Kelley. I’m an actor who plays Dr. McCoy, on television. In a show called ‘Star Trek.’”

“What in the devil is a television?” Scott asks. “Uh...‘Star Trek’?”

“You don’t know what a television is?”

“Ach...No.”

“You know, a box that transmits broadcasts? You know, you sit down on the sofa and watch it?”

Scotty shakes his head. "I don't know what you're talking about, I'm afraid."

“Star Trek, it’s a television show. I’m in it. That's what I do for a living.”

Scotty gives him a blank expression, which turns to concern. "Star trek?"

“Well, at any rate, I’m not Dr. McCoy. The real Dr. McCoy is a vampire--”

“A vampire?”

“Yes. Kirk and Spock are dead and--”

“Dead?!”

“Yes, dead...and...the real McCoy has this evil plan in mind. He plans on turning Bill and Leonard into vampire Kirk and Spock--I know this all sounds crazy.”

Scotty nods. “Aye, it certainly does.” He pushes a button on the console. “Security.”

“No, wait,” De says. “Wait. What I told you is true! You’re all in danger! All of you, you have to believe me, Scotty! The Sherman Oaks Galleria is inhabited by vampires! Desilu studios is in danger. Earth is in danger!”

“Dr. McCoy, the Sherman Oaks Galleria comes up on the scanner as a vibrant shopping mall. Kirk and Spock are down at the mall shopping. I have never heard of Desilu Studios. I spoke to Mr. Spock via communicator not too long ago. You know as well as I do there’s no such thing as vampires. I think Dr. M’Benga should perform a psych exam on ye.”

“I’m telling you, Scotty, Kirk and Spock are dead and there IS such a thing as vampires! The Sherman Oaks Galleria is a deadmall!

"A what?"

"A deadmall! A shopping center that's been abandoned, closed down. The Galleria's been decrepit since 1957!"

"That can't be, Doctor," Scotty tells him. "Here, see for yourself." Scotty waves him towards the scanner. "See? It's fine. Operational."

De hesitates then glances through the scanner. Sure enough, the Sherman Oaks Galleria is right there in all its glory. The neon sign is lit up. Cars in the parking lot. Shops open. It's crowded with people, looking very vibrant indeed. "I'll be damned. But that can't be right. Those people. They must be vampires!"

"I really think you should come with me to sickbay, Doctor. Have you checked out."

The security team shows up. "Come with us, Doctor."

They don't believe him. The scanner has to be lying. The Galleria has been empty for a century. Goddamn it, he lives just around the damned corner from it, he should know! But it's his word against this chief engineer. De darts away from the security guards, takes off towards the pneumatic doors. As he hopes they will, they slide open for him with a 'woosh'.

He runs down the corridor with the security men at his heels. “Dr. McCoy!" they yell out. "Please stop or we’ll be forced to stun you!”

The beam hits him. He falls to the deck.

*

“Speeding,” the camera operator says.

“Take 2-C.” The clapboard slams down.

“Action,” Joe Pevney says.

McCoy waits a moment, then slowly turns around as previously blocked in rehearsal. He says his first line:

_McCOY_  
 _What’s the matter, Spock?_

_SPOCK_  
 _There’s something disquieting about these creatures._

_McCOY_  
 _Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve got a feeling?_

 

McCoy reaches over to pet the Tribble prop.

 

_SPOCK_  
 _Don’t be insulting, Doctor. They remind me of the lilies of the field. They toil not, neither do they spin. But they seem to eat a great deal. I see no practical use for them._

_McCOY_  
 _Does everything have to have a practical use for you? They’re nice, they’re soft, they’re furry and they make a pleasant sound._

_SPOCK_  
 _So would an ermine violin, Doctor, but I see no advantage in having one._

_McCOY_  
 _It is a human characteristic to love little animals. Especially if they are attractive in some way._

_SPOCK_  
 _Doctor, I am well aware of human characteristics, I am frequently inundated by them, but I have trained myself to put up with practically anything._

_McCOY_  
 _Spock, I don’t know too much about these little Tribbles yet, but there is one thing I have discovered._

_SPOCK_  
 _What is that, Doctor?_

_McCOY_  
 _I like them. Better than I like you._

_SPOCK_  
 _Doctor._

_McCOY_  
 _Yes?_

_SPOCK_  
 _They do indeed have one redeeming characteristic._

_McCOY_  
 _What’s that?_

_SPOCK_  
 _They do not talk too much. If you’ll excuse me, Sir. >_

 

Nimoy exits thorough the sliding, grating wooden doors of the lab set.

“Cut!” Pevney says. “Great! Print that one!”

“Oh fantastic!" Nimoy says as he darts back through the doors. "Two takes. I love it.”

Now they move on to the coverage. But, suddenly, there’s a ping noise. Metal hitting metal. McCoy glances up.

In the rafters, suspended by chains, hangs Nimoy’s red bicycle.

*

“I found my bike!” Nimoy says, wheeling it up to McCoy.

Shatner, in his chair next to McCoy, leans over. “Oh you found it? Oh good. Who took it?”

“I don’t know,” Nimoy replies. “It was hanging up over the sickbay set, somebody got the electricians to do it, but they won’t talk. Not even with a bribe.”

“Not even with a bribe? Huh.”

“But when I find out who put them up to this there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

“Wow, Lenny, those are fighting words. If I was them, I’d be quaking in my boots.”

“They should be,” Nimoy says.

"Maybe they didn't realize it was yours. You should put your name on it," Shatner tells him.

"My name IS on it. See? it says: 'Leonard Nimoy' right here." Nimoy indicates the name plate. "There should be no question who this belongs to."

Shatner looks.  "Huh.  Well, you're right your name is on it."

“I’m locking this fucking thing in my trunk. It’ll be safe there.” Nimoy walks off with the bike.

“Hey, De. Watch this.” Shatner slides out of his chair, ambles over to the payphone a few feet away. He picks up the reciever, dials a number. “Hi, is this the receptionist? Patch me through to security, please. Yes, I’ll hold. Yeah, hi there. This is the Star Trek production office. There’s a car illegally parked in Leonard Nimoy’s parking space. Leonard Nimoy’s parking space. You want me to spell that? Alright. Listen, I need it to be towed. On the double. Oh, you’ll be there with a tow truck, ASAP? Fantastic. Thank you, Bye.” Shatner puts down the telephone and sits back back in his seat.

“You certainly are something,” McCoy muses after a long pause.

“I sure am,” Shatner replies. “Coming to the Halloween party tonight?”

“I suppose.”

“Should be a gas, huh?”

“Sure.”

“What are you coming as?”

“What?”

“Your Halloween costume. I mean, we wear costumes and make-up all fucking day, but that doesn’t take away from the magic of Halloween. The greatest holiday ever.”

“Huh?” McCoy says, absently. “What about Christmas?”

“I’m Jewish.”

“Oh,” McCoy replies. “Right. Must have forgot.”

“You okay, De? You’ve been behaving stranglely for the past couple days. Your little Chihuahua doing okay?”

“It’s a Schnoodle and yes she’s fine.”

“Alright, just wondering. Hey, have you seen David Gerrold lately?"

McCoy flicks a glance over to the offices. "No."

"Nobody's seen him since lunch time. Here we are shooting his first ever script for television and he's not here to watch it. Odd. Even grouchy old Harlan Ellison watched his 'City On The Edge of Forever' script being shot."

"Oh. Maybe David will turn up soon."

"Hope nothing happened to him, like the security guard. Vampire bites, imagine that. Cops can't figure out who did it."

McCoy says nothing, looks down at his hands.

There's a long, awkward pause before Shatner says: "John Wayne."

“Who?”

“That’s who I'm going as, for Halloween. ‘Hey pilgrim, I’m gonna bury you over there’.”

“That supposed to be John Wayne?”

Shatner shrugs. Nimoy comes stalking back into the soundstage. “Okay, Shatner that’s it. You are gonna get it.”

“What’s the matter, Baby?”

“This bastard tried to have my car towed away,” Nimoy tells McCoy, his thumb cocked back at the sandy haired actor. “Can you believe this shit? I had to pay the tow truck driver 100 bucks to get them to leave my Riv alone.”

“Oh no. That’s terrible. Are you sure it was him?”

“Yeah, I’m positive. I’m watching you, Billy boy.” Nimoy points at Shatner then storms off.

“Ahhh, go get your ears bobbed,” Shatner replies. The Human glances down at the concrete floor. “Oh good, there’s a camera weight. I’d better do a few exercises. I had a big lunch today. Need to work out.” Shatner ambles over to it. "I like to do a few lifts of these things. Keep in shape."

"Good idea," McCoy says. "That how you have such muscular arms?"

"Oh you noticed? Thanks!" Shatner beams from ear to ear. He squats down to pick up the weight, but stands up faster with it than he should with a weight of that size. The ‘weight’ flies out of his hands, hitting the soundstage ceiling. “What the fuck?” Shatner screeches out. The weight lands on the floor with a loud clatter. He scowls then picks it up again to examine it. “What the hell? This weight. It's not metal. It’s made from wood. It’s a fake weight. Somebody went to a lot of trouble and made a dummy weight. What kind of an asshole makes a dummy weight and leaves it lying around for me to find?”

In the distance there’s the sound of Nimoy’s evil cackle.

“Oh...” Shatner says, with narrowed eyes. “You did this! It was you! This means war, Lenny!”

“I got more where that came from, ya bastard!” Nimoy yells back.

McCoy shakes his head.

*

The clinical, antiseptic odor tells De he’s in a hospital, sickbay, even before he opens his eyes. There’s a man standing over him, clad in a short sleeved blue dupioni silk tunic. He nearly calls out the actor’s name but corrects himself in time, the man is undeniably: “Dr. M’Benga!"

“Well, Dr. McCoy, I am certainly gratified to hear that you recognize me.”

“Of course I recognize you,” De says. “I know who you are.”

“Any more talk of vampires?”

"Scotty fill you in?"

"Indeed he did," M'Benga says. "That's quite a story."

"You don't believe me," De says.

M'Benga shakes his head but gives him a compassionate smile.

Nobody believes him. If he keeps this up, warning them of something they’re obviously not interested in knowing about, they’ll confine him indefinitely to sickbay or throw him into the brig or the Starfleet looney bin and he needs to get out of here, much as he wishes to look around this starship, he needs to get himself beamed back down to Earth, to Desilu. If they won't help him, he’ll have to do something all on his own. But he must stop Leonard McCoy. 

De glances down to find himself clad in the typical sickbay patient jumpsuit. He feels his face. He’s freshly shaven.

“I hope you don’t mind, Dr. McCoy,” M’Benga says. “I took the liberty of having you cleaned up. The clothes you were wearing smelled pretty ripe.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet they were. I was in wallowing in them a couple of days.”

“Why were you in a bathrobe and pajamas?"

"Well...uh...." Why doesn't anybody care?

“I performed a brain pattern exam on you, just to check to see if you were really Dr. McCoy or if you were in fact somebody else who looks exactly like and sounds exactly like, Dr. McCoy. Your brain patterns and your DNA are identical. You are Dr. McCoy are you not? Or are you still claiming otherwise?”

“DNA and brain patterns are identical?” De frowns. How is that possible? DNA should be similar, but not identical. Brain patterns, that can’t be.

“Affirmative,” M’Benga says. “Down to the last genome.” M’Benga then goes into a lengthy description of biological processes. De nods, can understand some things but most of it goes right over his head.

“Well,” De says. “You certainly have a valid argument that I must have simply been delusional when I beamed aboard. Telemetry does not lie. It’s uh...been a rough day.”

“I’ll ask again. Do you still claim to be somebody else?”

“No,” De replies, some of the fight going out of him. “I’m definitely Dr. McCoy. If the machine says I am, than I am. Can’t argue with a computer now can I?” He chuckles.

“You sure now?”

“Positive.”

“What about Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock? Are they alright?”

“They’re...uh...they’re fine.”

“Why didn’t they beam up with you?”

“I don’t...I don’t know....I got separated from them. I guess.”

“Where are they?”

“Well, gee, they’re down on the planet’s surface. Shopping, I suppose.”

“We’re getting concerned, that we can’t contact them at this moment.”

He scratches his head. “There’s a bit of atmospheric interference, that’s all. I think.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ah.” M’Benga walks to the other side of Sickbay, and De panics for a moment, he’s bound into the bed, can’t get out of it. He’s hoping that he won’t suddenly be called upon to perform surgery.

“Hey M’Benga?” he calls over to the man.

“Yes, Dr. McCoy?”

“You gonna let me outta here? Kinda need to go visit the john.”

M’Benga, glances back at him. “The what, Doctor?”

“The bathroom, the toilet, the little boys’ room, the powder room, whatever the hell they call that little room that you urinate in, in Starfleet.”

“The head?”

“That’s it. I need to use the head.”

M’Benga comes back over. “I guess I can let you go. You check out, four oh.”

“Gee, that’s great, thanks!”

M’Benga lets him free, he gets up, swings his legs over the side, but hesitates a moment.

“Dr. McCoy?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought you wanted to use the toilet.”

“I think...I think I’d rather go to my quarters, use the one in there. Don’t really like using the sickbay toilet for uh....number...uh...you know.”

M’Benga laughs. “Oh you have to--”

“Yeah, don’t want to...uh...offend anyone.”

M’Benga nods and laughs a little more heartily this time. “Oh well, you’re released from sickbay, doctor.”

De nods at the doctor then darts out of the sickbay doors, into the corridor. These passageways are a hell of a lot longer than the sets on the show. The rooms are much larger. He wishes he could see the bridge but there isn’t time. He enters the turbolift doors, the pneumatic sound effect--or rather the sound, making him jump a little bit yet again. He keeps expecting the wooden grating, not the Glenn Glenn sound effect.

McCoy’s quarters should be on level five, at least that’s how they make it sound on the show. However, just to make certain, he calls out: “Computer.”

“Working.” Majel’s voice.

“Where’s my quarters, Darlin’? I’m having a bit of a brain drain. This is Leonard McCoy.”

“Level seven.”

Dammit, he was just on level 7. “Thank you, Computer, open the doors. I made an error.”

“Acknowledged.”

The doors open up for him and he dashes through them.


	17. Chapter 17

_McCOY_  
 _(excited)_  
 _Jim! I got it! All you have to do is stop feeding them! They stop eating they quit breeding!_

Shatner looks over from his position, neck deep in a pile of Tribbles.

_KIRK_  
 _Now he tells me._

"Cut!" Pevney says. "Fantastic, print that! Well folks, that's a wrap for today!"

There's a cheer from the crew, they start doing their tear down.

"Where in the fuck is David Gerrold?" Roddenberry says, watching the filming with arms folded. 

"I think he's hiding. Doing a rewrite of 'I MUDD'," Gene Coon replies. "That's what I heard."

"Oh. Well. Good kid. Good kid. Hopefully not on his IBM Selectric."

*

In the make-up room, McCoy removes his pancake with a baby wipe. "See you later, Fred," he calls out to the make-up man on his way out. 

"Don't forget to turn in your props, De."

McCoy glances down at the tri-corder (precise in every detail, except that it does not operate.), the prop communicator, and his real Type I phaser. "Sure thing."

He leaves the make-up room and arrives at the domain of the property master, Irving Feinberg's cage. "Good evening," McCoy says. He removes and turns in the tri-corder and the communicator. 

Feinberg glares at him. "Tri-corder's all banged up again, De," he snarls out. "Look at these fucking scratches and dents. Gotta fill out a repair sheet. How many times has this been? Why are you so rough on my props?!" 

"Sorry," McCoy says, rather taken aback by the man's extreme anger. "Won't happen again."

"Better not," Feinberg huffs. "What about that one?" The man points at McCoy's phaser on his hip. 

Why didn't he put it away, hide it? How idiotic of him. What the hell is wrong with him? 

"Well?" Feinberg says. "Hand it over. Time's a wastin'."

McCoy sighs, hands over the phaser with a resigned shrug. 

Feinberg inspects it closely. Flips it around in his hand. "Now, this thing is in fine condition. Not a scratch on it. I don't know how you managed that. Needs no repairs. Gold star for De."

"Fortutous," McCoy says in a flat tone. He glances up, meets the man's piercing gaze. There's something in those light blue eyes, staring back at him. Something sinister. There's red around the irises. McCoy shakes his head. He's imagining things. Just a grouchy old man doing his job, nothing else. The bloodshot eyes are due to these long hours everybody keeps around here.

Feinberg's now making notes on a clipboard. "Coming to the Halloween party, De?" 

"No," McCoy replies. "I think it's wise that I head on home. Celebrate with the wife."

"Oh, the wife wears the pants in your house. huh?"

"Huh?"

"Fuck the wifey. You should stay here. Be a good party. Roddenberry's hired a few strippers," Feinberg says. "And they're turning the sets into a haunted house."

"The Enterprise sets?"

"Yeah. Not my idea. But that's the set designer's problem, not mine. Who cares if you guys fuck up his sets. I sure don't. Let them have to waste money to rebuild after somebody vomits all over the sickbay bed. At least they're leaving my props alone. I wouldn't let them use a thing of mine." Feinberg waves a hand over 'his' collection of various STAR TREK props. "Got to make sure everything is present and accounted for. I don't take too kindly to properties molestations."

"Properties molestations?" McCoy tilts his head. "Huh?"

"A term I just made up. But, understand, it is a serious problem at Desilu. People think these props are toys. Well they're not." Feinberg's head suddenly darts up. "Shatner! Leave those fucking Tribbles alone!"

"I understand," McCoy says. "I'll... uh...see you later."

Feinberg grunts and nods. 

*

There's a flurry of excitement on the soundstages and STAR TREK production offices. Instead of their normal duties, the television crew are busy prepping for the party. Decorations are being hung. Catered food being brought in. A full bar is set up. A huge halloween cake wheeled in. A record player being set up with huge speakers. Lots of chatter and laughter. It's obvious this is a happy family, much like the crew of the real Enterprise. A crew that he'll never see again. McCoy stands in the center of the vast stage 11 a moment, somberly taking it all in, still clad in the STAR TREK blue velour tunic. 

It's better if he quickly changes clothing. Get's the hell out of here. Let Mr. Kelley out of that shed. Leave these people alone for good. 

And...his stomach is starting to growl again. 

He turns, exits the stages and walks outside to the dressing rooms. 

*

After running around Deck Five like a maniac, De finally manages to locate Dr. McCoy’s cabin. The doors open up obediently for his presence. 

The Chief Medical Officer's quarters look just exactly as how they shot it in ‘The Man Trap’. They're very tidy. Exactly how he’d keep his quarters were he really Dr. McCoy.

Except the main flaw is that they never show the bathrooms on television. “Toilet, toilet. Where’s the damned toilet?” He glances around, doesn’t spot the bathroom right away. “Don’t people need to pee in the 23rd century?” Ah ha, the door is discretely tucked over there into the corner. 

He finally gets to use the toilet, tilting his head back in relief. He looks around for the knob to flush it. “Now how in the hell do you flush the toilet in this futuristic, ultra modern space cruiser?” He steps back and it flushes on its own. “Amazing, these technological advances,” he quips to himself. 

He heads out of the bathroom, and makes his way over to the doctor’s wardrobe. He selects one of the doctor’s blue velour uniform shirts, Lieutenant Commander stripes on the sleeve--nicely built and perfectly stitched, hem looks perfect, as opposed to the costumes in the 20th after they’ve been through the wash machine a few dozen times. He dons the pants, then socks, then the black trousers and boots. He checks himself in the dressing mirror. 

Before he turns away, he notices a photo frame with a 3 dimensional holographic image in it, sitting on the chest of drawers. He picks it up and studies it. There’s an inscription on the bottom: ‘ _Our Wedding Day_ ’. It’s McCoy and Spock, wearing Vulcan robes, doing that finger thing that Spock’s parents did in ‘Journey to Babel’. Spock and McCoy are married. Married? To each other? Sure enough they are. Huh. How about that. Makes sense. No wonder they argue so much in the show. 

Or rather, Spock and McCoy WERE married. 

His heart breaks at that very instant for McCoy. “I know how you feel, Bones. I’d do the same thing if something happened to my Carolyn. If she was killed, and I was turned into a vampire, I wouldn’t be rational about it at all. I too would be desperate to get her back any way I could,” he whispers. “But Leonard Nimoy, he’s a 20th century human being, you can’t do this to him! You can’t turn him into a replacement Spock. You can’t take this man away from his home. Bill Shatner might be all for it, but Leonard....”

He drops the photo, exits McCoy's quarters.

*

McCoy reaches the dressing rooms. 

"Hi De, Baby!" Nichelle Nichols calls out to him. She's dressed in a cat costume. Black leotard, tights, a furry tail stuck to her rear end. "You like it?" She leans over so that he can see the cat ears on her head.

McCoy smiles. "You're the most beautiful feline I've ever laid eyes upon. You really ring my bell."

She hits him on the shoulder. "Oh, De! You coming to the party, right?"

"No. I'm heading for home."

"Oh, tell me you're coming! You have to! What costume are you wearing?"

"Well, nothing. I don't have one."

"Aw. That's a shame." 

A man suddenly passes by the dressing rooms, McCoy remembers him to be William Ware Theiss, the costume designer. "Hey Bill?" Nichelle says. "De doesn't want to come to the party."

"Well, I never said I didn't want--" McCoy begins.

"Oh, you have to!" Theiss says in a very excited voice. "There's gonna be a haunted house in the sets! Sounds groovy! As long as they leave my costumes alone, that's perfectly okay with me! Probably have to rebuild them after somebody gets caught screwing on the captain's chair, but hey that's not my problem, that's the set designer's problem, right?"

McCoy grimaces. "Screwing on the captain's chair?"

"De doesn't want to wear a Halloween costume," Nichelle tells Bill Theiss. "Isn't that awful?"

"Well, I never said I didn't want--"

"You gotta come in costume, De!" Bill Theiss says. "You got to! Everybody is! I'm gonna be a mail man."

"A mail man?" Nichelle says. "Groovy!"

"Yeah! Isn't it?"

"Well the thing is," McCoy says. "I don't really have a costume."

Hey," Theiss says. "I'll bet if I went next door to Paramount, I could dig up one of your old cowboy costumes. You could wear that! How about it! Huh?"

The man seems very excited about that prospect. "Well, sure. If you want to go through all that trouble," McCoy replies. "Shatner's going as John Wayne."

"You two can be twins!" Nichelle says. "Hey pardner, I'll bury you over there!"

"That supposed to be John Wayne?" Theiss tells Nichelle.

Nichelle pouts. "I thought it was a good impression."

"Hey, De, you want help with that zipper?" Theiss asks. "Seems to be broken again."

McCoy shrugs. "Sure." 

Theiss follows him inside his dressing room. McCoy shuts the door behind them. Theiss narrows his eyes a little at that, but says nothing. "I've come prepared," Theiss tells him.

"Huh?" McCoy says.

"My handy seam ripper," Theiss says, holding up the sharp object. "Never leave home without it. Like American Express." 

"Oh, right."

"Well, sit down." Theiss waves him into the chair. 

"Certainly." McCoy stomach rumbles again. 

"You must be hungry," Theiss says. The man leans over and begins to rip the zipper out of the tunic. "These damn things. I hate these invisible zippers."

"Yeah," McCoy replies. They're both quiet while Theiss concentrates on his task. 

"What's that?" Theiss suddenly asks. 

"What's what?"

"This burned area on your vanity table. Did you recently have a fire here? Your mirror's gone." 

McCoy shrugs. That was from Mr. Kelley aiming the phaser. He says nothing in response but his stomach growls again. The hunger pangs...oh how it hurts....

"Okay, Baby," Theiss says. "All done."

McCoy grabs onto the man's wrists. "Not quite, Mr. Theiss."

________________________  
on to the next chapter...


	18. Chapter 18

McCoy's hands tighten on the man's wrists as he displays his fangs. Theiss is frozen in terror. 

"I'm sorry, Bill. I have to do this." McCoy leans over to kiss the man. But before he can make contact, he halts. There's something in the air between them. Something awful. McCoy pulls back in disgust. "Ugh! What is that?"

Theiss quakes in his grasp. "What?"

"Your breath. What is that foul stench?"

Theiss can barely get out the words: "You mean the garlic chicken I had for lunch? I brushed my teeth, you can still smell that? Yes, the food was...very garlicky."

McCoy's eyes bulge. He shrieks out: "You ate GARLIC?!"

"I like garlic."

McCoy releases him. He holds up his hands. "Get away! GET OUT!" he screeches out in an inhuman voice that had to have come up from the pits of hell. 

Theiss makes a strangled noise and runs to the door. The man's hands scratch along the metal, desperately trying to locate the handle. "I'll uh...won't say a word about this, De. Okay? I like you, you're a nice guy. A real nice guy. A truly nice guy!" 

"Out!"

Theiss gets the door open. He halts with a gasp. 

Standing in the doorway, is Leonard Nimoy. He's out of his Vulcan make-up. Now the man is wearing a black cape, a velvet suit. His face is pale, almost white. The smooth, black hair is slicked into a point on the forehead. His eyes are lined in black. The irises are red rimmed and match his bright red lipstick. 

Nimoy smiles and shows off sharp, white fangs. 

"Oh my God!" Theiss screams out. "Oh my God!" He dives past Nimoy, shrieking hysterically as he runs off into the distance.

Nimoy chuckles then steps into McCoy's dressing room. "Good evening."

McCoy watches in horror. Leonard's not Spock at all. It's a Nimoy vampire. He didn't turn this man. He could have had Spock back but he waited too long. Some other undead creature got to him first. McCoy's heart sinks. _Oh no._

*

De heads down the corridor to Transporter Room A, the one right next to sickbay. The doors open up and Chief Kyle is there, bent over the controls, has his back to him, totally unaware, just like in ‘City on the Edge of Forever’. De holds up the sedative hypo he'd had the presence of mind to pick up in McCoy's quarters. 

He creeps up to the oblivious Kyle. The hypo hisses as he depresses it into Kyle’s back. Kyle slumps to the ground, unconscious. 

“Sorry, Mr. Kyle,” De says. “But this is becoming a habit. You really need to pay attention to that door.”

*

"Poor Bill Theiss," Nimoy says, the fangs giving him a slight lisp. "I guess he doesn't like vampires."

"I suppose nobody does."

"You don't?" Nimoy advances on him. 

"Well, I'm not as scared of you as Bill was." Bill Theiss, with that garlic chicken lunch, just saved his own life. McCoy is absolutely starving but it is for the best that he was thwarted. Can't go around exanguinating people. 

Now for this problem. He's got to get Nimoy out of here so he doesn't want to eat all the fresh victims available. Maybe they can live together with the coven at the Galleria. It's the only way. 

"You really shouldn't harass the poor costume designer like that," Nimoy's saying. "What was he doing in here alone with you, anyway?" Nimoy cocks an eyebrow. "Anything...uh...going on?"

McCoy holds up the dropped seam ripper. "He was trying to get me out of this tunic. Zipper's broken." 

"Oh," Nimoy says. "I'll help you with that." He smiles again, showing off those sharp, white fangs. 

*

De moves to the cabinet. It's locked but opens obediently with his verbal command. Ah, he could get used to this place. 

He pulls out a type II phaser, a communicator, a tri-corder and a landing party medical kit. The real deal. He places everything where they should go, on his hip. 

Now for the transporter. Dr. McCoy would know how to beam down on his own. Supposed to. He hopes operation of these controls are the same as in the show, or he could seriously injure or most likely kill himself. Beaming into solid rock or spreading his atoms across the inky sky. 

Well, here goes nothing. 

“Computer,” he says.

“Working.”

“Give me the coordinates to Desilu Studios.”

*

McCoy sits in his chair as Nimoy finishes ripping out the seam. "So," Nimoy says conversationally, "you didn't say anything."

"About what?"

"My Halloween costume. I decided to dress up as Dracula, like you."

"Dracula?"

"Yeah. I'm Dracula. Are you Dracula too, or are you Nosferatu?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not. So what do you think of my costume? Do you like it? Took forever to get all this crap on." Nimoy suddenly glances over the vanity table. "Hey, where's your vanity mirror?" 

"It broke." 

Nimoy sticks a finger in his own mouth and with a pop, removes his fangs. He sets them down on the table. "I don't know how you can stand yours. These things are pissing me off."

McCoy blinks at him. He does a sigh of relief. The fangs are fake. Nimoy's not really a vampire. "My dentist--" 

"Oh yeah, that's right. You told me he glued them on. Maybe I should have done that. So do you like my vampire costume? You'd think I'd be sick of wearing make-up. But I thought, what the hell."

McCoy grins. "You make a great Dracula. Very evil."

"Yeah! I should play Dracula in a movie. That would be fun!" 

"How'd you get the red around your irises?"

"Contact lenses. They hurt like hell. Don't know how you can stand yours!" Nimoy studies him a moment. "Hey, You alright, De?"

McCoy stomach growls. "Yeah," he says. "I am now." 

"Good." Nimoy moves to remove McCoy's tunic and black undershirt for him, leaving him bare chested. Nimoy comes back up behind him and slides his hands around his waist. "Mmmmm. Been waiting for this all day." 

McCoy stands up from his chair so fast that Nimoy releases his hold on him. "I should get into my clothes." 

"Sure. Okay." Nimoy watches with a smile as McCoy takes off the costume boots and trousers but frowns when he dresses in DeForest's green sweater and pants and shoes. "Where's your Nosferatu costume? I thought we were gonna be twins at the party?"

"I uh...forgot it at home," McCoy says. 

"Aw," Nimoy says. "Too bad. Well, vampires don't have to dress like Gothic Horror antagonists, it just happens in the movies. Right? Come here." Nimoy grabs hold of the sides of his face and meets his mouth in bruising kiss. He suddenly pulls or half throws McCoy onto the couch. McCoy lets himself fall back on it. As Nimoy slides on top of him, McCoy feels the man's erection pressing very insistently against his thigh. 

"Ever fucked a vampire?" Nimoy says breathlessly before claiming McCoy's mouth again, sliding in his tongue, grinding against him. 

The man's body feels exactly like Spock's up against him but (at least right now) but this one makes love differently than Spock did. Much more aggressive. Nimoy bites down hard on his neck. "You're thinking too much."

Leonard's right, he is thinking too much. Stop thinking about Spock. Stop thinking about Spock. This man is not Spock, stop pretending that he is. Nimoy grinds harder against him and this is wrong but feels good, he thought he'd lost this forever. But...This man does not really want this with him. Why doesn't he stop him. He should stop him. Stop giving into his damned desires. His impulses. Oh, it feels so goddamned good....

"Are you gonna keep your cape on?" McCoy manages in between kisses.

"The whole thing, Baby."

McCoy feels hands undoing the button on his trousers, then fingers dipping in to find his cock. 

_Knock, knock, knock, knock!_

Nimoy stops what he's doing and lets out a groan. "Shhh. Ignore it and they'll go away," he whispers. 

_Knock, knock, knock, knock!_ There's a pause, then: _KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!!!_

With a certain amount of reluctance, McCoy pushes Nimoy off of him. "Obviously, whoever it is, it's important." He gets off the sofa, refastens his pants, with Nimoy behind him, adjusting himself. McCoy opens up the door. It's Nichelle Nichols. 

"Hi guys!" she says as she breezes in.

"Hi, Baby," Nimoy says. 

"Coming to the party? It's crazy out there! How do you like my cat costume?" She spins around for Nimoy's benefit. Her tail flies out behind her as she turns.

"You look stunning," Nimoy tells her. "Wow, look at those ears."

Nichelle giggles. "Leonard, look at you! Dracula! You are the cutest Vulcan Dracula I've ever seen! Hey, De! Isn't he the most adorable Vulcan Dracula?"

McCoy meets Nimoy's eyes. "I'd say he was an adorable Vulcan Dracula." 

"Except your lipstick's all mussed." Nichelle reaches out and touches Nimoy's lips. She swings around to McCoy. "And you've got lipstick all over your mouth--oh. Oh, gee. Was I...interrupting anything?" 

"No," McCoy tells her. "We were just on our way out to the party, right Leonard?" 

Nimoy raises an eyebrow. "Certainly."

___________________  
On to the next chapter....


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leonard Nimoy passed away right before my posting of this particular chapter. May Leonard always live in our hearts. I will miss Leonard and DeForest, always.
> 
>  
> 
> _He's not really dead, as long as we remember him.--Leonard McCoy._

De inputs the coordinates into the transporter console just like he has watched Leonard or rather, Spock, do many a time on the show. Hopefully this will work. If not...he's a dead man. He feels a pang in his heart. Carolyn will never know what truly happened to him. For all practical purposes he'll disappear from existence--literally. His atoms scattered. He's a fool for attempting this, not knowing what the hell he is doing with these controls, but there's no other way.

He's got to stop McCoy.

He's got to get to Desilu.

He sets the controls to automatic. Slides the levers into place. Should be a delay of mere seconds, has to hurry onto the pads.

Suddenly the doors swoosh open. "Hold it right there, Dr. McCoy." It's Scotty with a phaser pointed right at him.

_Oh oh._

*

The main studio working lights are extinguished on the soundstage, the only illumination coming from a handful of colored spotlights set up by the electricians. There's fake cobwebs and spiders in every nook and cranny of the Enterprise sets turned haunted house, noises of creaking and groaning emanating from a hidden reel to reel player. There's pumpkin and ghost and zombie and witch decorations, several jack-o-lanterns. There's a smoke machine cranking out a heavy fog. Several hired actors are dressed up as ghosts, saying "Boo!"

"Amazing," McCoy says as they make their way through the redressed sets. "Who knew my sickbay could be so terrifying?"

"Where are the vampires?" Nimoy replies, furrowing his brow. "One can't have Halloween without vampires."

"You sure do like vampires," McCoy notes.

Now they're winding their way through the decorated Enterprise corridor set, repainted in black, illuminated by nothing but a blinking strobe. They're in relative privacy in the dark. McCoy feels hands sliding around his waist.

"I love vampires," Nimoy whispers in his ear.

*

"Dr. McCoy, what the devil!?" Scotty's eyes gravitate towards the slumped Mr. Kyle.

"He'll be alright," De says, hands raised. "I only administered a sedative." He kicks himself for saying that. Sounded too much like the real Bones.

*

The Halloween party is in full swing on the STAR TREK stages. Several attendees (George Takei and a few of the season two guest stars) walk around with Tribble props resting on their shoulders. Irving Feinberg goes from partygoer to partygoer plucking them off with a murderous look on his face. Minutes later those same Tribble props reappear on different people's shoulders.

Several partygoers come up to Nimoy to complement his Dracula costume.

"Hey thanks!" Nimoy says, actually shouting over the sound of 'The Monster Mash', a huge grin plastered on his face, showing off his fangs. "De's a vampire too. Here show 'em, De." Nimoy elbows him.

McCoy obliges by showing them his fangs.

"Very impressive, Mr. Kelley, but where’s your cape?"

“Nosferatu doesn’t wear a cape,” Nimoy says, indignant.

The partygoers shrug and walk off.

Bill Theiss suddenly spots the pair of them and beelines it the other direction, face contorted in terror. Nimoy giggles like a madman at that. "Look at him go."

"Leonard, vampires are no laughing matter,” McCoy says.

"Hey, it's not my fault he's seen one too many horror movies. Ah, he’ll be alright." Nimoy's nursing a Gin and Tonic, maintaining eye contact with McCoy, keeping him close by, not letting him sneak away, each time McCoy tries to beg off. "Want a drink, De?"

McCoy remembers the days when an alcoholic drink would have hit the spot. A party like this (and they've had a few aboard the real Enterprise) would normally be a perfect excuse for a good glass of bourbon or Saurian brandy. "No, thank you," he says tightly. Those days are over. There’s only one drink he can handle and that's at an unfortunate cost to another's life. He sighs and pats the pack cigarettes in his pocket before ultimately pulling them out. "I suppose you want one of these, like everyone else around here."

"No," Nimoy says, keeping his devilish grin. "I'm quitting. Like you did."

McCoy smiles. "Good."

Nimoy shrugs in response, almost bashful, polishes off the G & T. He sets the glass down. "Come on, Baby.” He darts a glance towards the dressing rooms. “Before it turns into the witching hour.”

*

"Step down from the transporter pads, Dr. McCoy," Scotty says. "Over here." The Chief Engineer motions with his phaser. "The doors are now locked from the inside, so you canna get away."

"You can do that?" De asks.

"Aye."

"Scotty," De says. "Listen. I have to beam down to Earth."

"Why?"

"What I told you before is true! Dr. McCoy, the real doctor McCoy--listen to me Scotty-- he's down there on Earth, my home planet, wreaking havoc. Something happened to him, he's been turned into a vampire. Jim and Spock were killed at the Sherman Oaks Galleria. Like I told you, before! I'm not Dr. McCoy! I’m DeForest Kelley! Please, Scotty, you must believe me!"

Scotty hits the intercomm button. "Security."

"You're not buying any of it, are you," De says. He's failed. He hits his fist to his palm. "Dammit!"

*

As soon as they're alone in Nimoy's dressing room, the man is pulling off his fake fangs, throwing them on the vanity table. "Can't kiss with these fucking things on. I don't know how you manage."

"I don't have much choice." McCoy stands there, looking around. Paisely blue couch. One of those record player things in the corner. There's a phonograph album leaning next to it, he picks it up to study it. "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band" he reads out.

Nimoy beams. "Yeah! I just got it in the mail the other day! Oh...man it's a gas. Paul sent it to me."

"Who?"

"Paul McCartney." Nimoy studies him a moment. "You know, 'The Beatles'? I've met them a few times."

"Oh."

"There's other music besides Frank Sinatra, De. If you want to borrow one of my records to broaden your tastes, you're certainly welcome to them."

McCoy smiles back at the Human. "Thanks." He sets the album down where he found it.

McCoy glances down at the blue shag carpeting. He looks up and notices a large painting on the wall, several framed black and white photographs. "At any rate, I like what you've done with the place." Quite different than Spock.

"Thanks, De. But why are you behaving like you've never been in here? You and Bill are hanging out in here almost every other day."

"First time I've ever really looked around. I suppose."

"Oh." They stand and look at each other a moment before Nimoy starts to creep closer.

*

Scotty motions his thumb at the burly redshirts. "Escort Dr. McCoy to sickbay." He turns back around. "You gonna behave, Doctor? I dinna want to throw you in the brig."

"Scotty," De Says. "You have to believe me. I'm not Dr. McCoy!"

*

"Make yourself comfortable, De. You want a drink? I have some vodka, your favorite."

"No, thank you," McCoy says.

"Don't tell me you gave up drinking too!"

McCoy nods.

"Well, alright." Nimoy's right in his personal space now. He's taking off his cape.

"Thought you wanted to leave that on?" McCoy says.

"It's getting a little hot in here."

"Yeah." McCoy swallows. "I guess you're right."

"You want to...take off your sweater?"

"No."

"Alright." Nimoy suddenly rubs his eye. "I'm gonna take out my lenses. These things are bugging me."

"Would you like me to do it?" McCoy offers.

"Sure."

"Lay down...on the sofa," McCoy says. Nimoy smirks and does what's asked of him.

As he's removing the red lenses, McCoy realizes this is his last chance, to turn this man into the Spock he wants so dearly. One little bite, that's all it would take. He pulls off the remaining lens. "All done. Would you like some eyedrops?"

"Uh huh," Nimoy says.

"Stay right there." McCoy goes over to the vanity table, gets the Visiene and returns to the sofa. "According to the bottle, this solution has soothing properties. You might have some superficial scratches on the cornea or the sclera from these hard lenses, causing irritation. In fact I would recommend using soft ones. Next time."

There's some kind of a love-light in Nimoy's eyes. "Talk to me like that again."

"Like what?"

"Bones. Talk to me like Bones again."

McCoy glances down and blushes, then looks up.

"There's no such thing as soft contact lenses, De."

"There's not? Should be."

"What did you do with that communicator you had?" Nimoy whispers.

McCoy sits down next to the man. "I uh...left it. At home."

Nimoy shifts so that he's also sitting, touching McCoy with his arm. "De."

"Yeah?"

"You know when you were joking to me that you were _really_ McCoy, you know, back at the observatory...."

"Yeah."

Nimoy glances down. "Sometimes...I wish he was real. Wish that wasn't a practical joke. I mean De Kelley's a wonderful man, a great friend, but Bones...."

"Who are you attracted to?" McCoy asks. "Bones or Mr. Kelley?"

Nimoy steeples his hands just like Spock. "I'm not gonna answer that. It's not fair of me to...." He sighs. "It would make things easier if you were McCoy. McCoy's not married. I'm not...stealing Bones away from a wife. Right?"

As a reply, McCoy leans in close to the man, meets his mouth.

_______________  
on to the next chapter


	20. Chapter 20

Nimoy's hands are wandering, sliding underneath McCoy's sweater, up to his chest, down to his belly, tongue deep in McCoy's mouth, fingers dipping into his waistband. The man breaks the kiss to sink to his knees. Those long fingers unfasten his pants. 

"Leonard....wait...wait," McCoy breathes out. "Wait."

Nimoy holds up a finger to his lips. "Shhh. Let me do this for you." 

The man takes McCoy into his mouth and is intent on pleasuring him and pleasure McCoy he does. Not as well practiced at it as Spock was, probably the first time he's ever performed this particular sexual act, but the man makes up for inexperience with his passion.

In the back of his mind McCoy's aware this might be a more pleasant way to turn the man than biting. All Nimoy has to do is ingest his seed and that's enough.

He's so close, so damned close, oh god... so damned close. 

But he suddenly pulls away from the man, pushes him back. He clamps down a hand on the base of his penis, his breaths ragged. 

Nimoy's sitting on his haunches, watching him, wide eyed, horrified. "What's the matter? Was it something I did? Did I hurt you? I'm sorry."

McCoy shakes his head, clamping on to the base even tighter. "No. I just...didn't want to come in your mouth."

"I didn't mind."

"I did."

The man's eyes are darting around, unsure. Vulnerable. He stands up. Looks down in shame. "I'm sorry. I though you'd like that. I wanted to make you feel good."

"It's not your fault," McCoy insists. "It's not your fault." The urge to orgasm gone, McCoy lets go of himself. He pulls up his underwear and fastens his pants. 

"I'm sorry," Nimoy says. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. It's alright. It's me, not you."

Nimoy seems flustered, embarrassed. He's blushing red. Not green. He turns away from McCoy. "I'm gonna go take a walk outside," he grits out.

"I'll come with you," McCoy says. He reaches for Nimoy's hand, grasps it tightly. "I'll come with you."

*

"Scotty, please!" De says. "Please!" His voice his hysterical, pleading, but he doesn't care how ridiculous he sounds. "You gotta believe me! You gotta believe me! Scotty!" 

Scotty narrows his eyes. 

"Scotty," De continues frantically, "the actor who plays you, his name is James Doohan. He's missing a finger on his right hand. You've got that finger. He doesn't. He lost that finger in World War II. James Doohan plays Mr. Scott on Star Trek. Star Trek, Scotty. That's the name of the show." 

Scotty walks to the console and flips the switch. "Computer. Details on James Doohan. Late 1960's Earth."

"Working." The computer gives him the details. 

Scotty looks back at De, then glances down at the console. "Security," Scott says.

"Scotty!" De shrieks out.

"Release our guest." Scotty nods towards the pads. "You're free to go. Uh, what did you say your name was?"

"DeForest Kelley."

"Jim and Spock are really...dead?"

"Yeah, as far as I know. I'm sorry."

Scotty nods solumnly. "You're gonna need the security guards help down there." Scotty nods at the guards.

"Thanks, Scotty!" De runs up to the pads, jumps on them. He turns around. The security men join him on either side. 

"Mr. Kelley?" Scotty says.

"Yeah?"

"You set the transporter to beam you into deep space. I dare say that wasn't your intention."

"No, it sure wasn't Scotty. It was a mistake. I don't know how to use the controls."

"Dr. McCoy knows how. He has to know. Perhaps one day, I'll show you. Is James Doohan good looking?"

"Yeah, sure is. He looks just like you. Identical."

Scotty nods. 

The beam hums then immobilizes De. That same icky sicky feeling comes over him. He can understand why the doctor does not care for this thing, this is a contraption that he doesn’t want to make a habit of using on a regular basis. The transporter room disappears from his vision.

He materializes into the transporter room set. However, the security guards are missing. He flips open the communicator. "DeForest to Scott."

 _"Scott here._ "

"Scotty, where's the guards?"

" _I cannae beam them down, there's a problem with the...._ " There's static, then nothing. 

"Scotty? Scotty? Come in, Scotty." He pops the communicator shut. "Dammit. Well, I guess I have to go it alone."

The transporter room set is dark, decorated for Halloween. He checks the tri-corder for the local time. Ten PM. 

He hears music and laughter, must be the Halloween party. 

He jumps off the pads, walks down the corridor set, jumps back at the strobe light. He makes his way out of the soundstage and over to the trailers, heading for his own dressing room first. Nobody there. 

He goes through to the soundstage parking area, spots his own green Thunderbird in his parking space. If that bastard put any dents in it, so help him-- Leonard's black Buick Rivera is parked next to it, along with Bill's Corvette. He heads to the Nimoy dressing room. Tries the knob. It’s locked. He bangs on the door. “Leonard!” he bellows out. “Leonard, open the door!” 

Bill Shatner comes out of his trailer with a mysterious blonde in tow. “De? What’s going on? Why are you still in Star Trek costume, you going as that for Halloween? Hell you look like part of a landing party.” The girl behind Shatner giggles.

De glances down at his Enterprise uniform, the real deal. The tri-corder slung over his shoulder, the phaser on his belt, the medi-kit, the communicator. “Where’s Leonard?”

“You don’t know where he is?”

“Wouldn’t be asking ya if I did.”

“God, De, you sure have been a cranky son of a bitch lately. I saw you with him not twenty minutes ago--tell me again why you’re in a uniform?”

“Never mind,” De barks out at him.

“Should I tell him you’re looking for him?”

“No,” De snaps. He leaves Shatner standing there stunned, staring a hole through his back. He stalks into the offices, into the party. 

Gene Roddenberry grabs onto him. “Well, look who it is, De Kelley! What are you still doing in uniform?”

“Well gee, uh, Gene, it’s uh....look, I uh.....”

“Never mind, never mind. Had a rough couple of days, eh? Sorry about today, no hard feelings, huh? Look here’s somebody I’d like you to meet.” There’s another suit next to Gene. “De, I’d like you to meet Stanley.” 

The man vigorously shakes De’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kelley.”

“Oh, likewise.”

“That a brand new costume, De? Looks gorgeous,” Gene says.

“Oh, this ol’ thing? No.”

After a few more minutes of excruciating small talk, Gene says: “De, you’d better hide from Irving Feinberg. He sees you playing with that prop and you’re gonna lose those hands, Baby.”

“Yeah.” De’s head whips around. Scanning the room which is cluttered with various drunken crew, a few of their past guest stars, assorted extras. 

“Irving’s over there, De.”

“I’m looking for Leonard Nimoy, where the hell is he?”

“What’s the matter, De? You two have words? I’ve never seen you so upset.” Gene turns to the guy and says: “I love that Nimoy, great actor, but boy is he ever a feisty son of a bitch.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that, Gene,” De says, “Lenny...uh...owes me a pack of cigarettes.”

“Well,” Gene says, laughing. “I know what you mean. Guy stole my damned pack of mints yesterday.” Gene glances up. “Oh shit. Irving’s clocked you, De. He’s not a happy camper right now. Wow, if looks could kill.”

“Uh oh,” De says.

“Now he’s coming towards us.”

“Shit,” De says. “Gotta run! Nice meeting you, Stanley.” He darts off in the opposite direction.

“Kelley!” Irving Feinberg bellows out. “You son of a bitch! Steal my goddamned props, why don’t you? You get back here, now! Those are not toys! Get back here! Kelley!”

He manages to lose the man in the maze of the soundstage flats. He runs past George Takei. 

“Whoa, De!” George calls out after him. “Where’s the fire? Why are you still in your Enterprise costume? Are you Bones for Halloween?” George chuckles. "You couldn't have picked something else?"

De stops, turns on his heel and runs back to the man and says, breathing heavily: “George, have you seen Leonard?”

“He was with you. Or I could have sworn he was. Just a little while ago. Hey, why are you wearing the props? Irving’s gonna--”

“Never mind that! Where’d they--I mean, where were WE headed?”

“On the New York street, I think.” George laughs. "In that direction."

De grabs onto George’s shoulders. “Thanks! And if anybody asks, I wasn’t here.”

“Who’s gonna ask?”

“Irving Feinberg!”

“Oh my. Well, okay, De,” George calls behind him, chuckling again.

De dashes out of the soundstage entrance/exit outside, past the water tower, and over to the New York street. 

In the middle of the street there’s two figures facing each other. He gets closer, finally reaches the pair. It's Dr. McCoy and Leonard. The doctor is clad in his favorite green sweater. Dammit, the guy had to go and ruin his favorite. 

Nimoy’s head whips around, his eyes widen when he spots De running up. “What the fuck?” he says. 

De rips the phaser off his belt and points it at the doctor’s chest. “Get away from Leonard Nimoy.”

“Who the fuck are you and what are you doing with that Feinberger?” Nimoy says. “Irving’s gonna--”

“Oh, this is no Feinberger,” De says. “This is the real deal. A real phaser. Isn’t it, Dr. Leonard McCoy.” De flicks the switch, turns it from stun to kill. "Isn't it, Dr. McCoy?"

Nimoy’s eyes flick over to McCoy, then back over to De. “You two are identical.”

De’s still aiming the phaser at the doctor. “It’s set to vaporize. I said, get away from Leonard Nimoy.”

“Alright, alright,” McCoy replies, moving away from the man. “Alright, I’m going.”

Nimoy's still looking from one to the other. “Amazing. This is like the Patty Duke Show.”

“Except we’re not cousins,” De replies.

“The what show?” McCoy says.

“The doctor and I possess identical DNA, down to the last genome,” De tells Nimoy. “Identical thought patterns, speech patterns when I’m in character.” 

“How do you know that?” McCoy says. “And where’d you get that working phaser? Aw, you didn’t beam up to the goddamned ship, did you? Oh you did, you nit wit, why the hell did you do that? Are you outta your goddamned mind?”

“The ship?” Nimoy says. “The Enterprise? The real Enterprise? That’s what I saw up in the atmosphere.” He turns to Dr. McCoy. “You weren't kidding were you. You're Bones! The real Bones McCoy! Dr. Leonard McCoy?” Nimoy breaks out into a huge grin. “You’re from the future? Really?”

McCoy nods solumnly. “I am.”

“Tell him, Bones!” De snarls. “Tell Lenny what you plan on doing to him.”

“No, I uh....” McCoy replies. He shakes his head.

“TELL HIM!” De shrieks. “Fine, I’ll tell him. Leonard, he plans on turning you into Spock. The real Spock. Pointy ears, green blood and all.”

“You can do that?” Nimoy replies.

“Yes,” McCoy says. “I certainly have that power.”

"How?" Nimoy says.

“This gentleman here,” De explains, “and I use the term 'gentleman' loosely--is what they call in folklore, a Vampire. One that used to be Leonard McCoy, but is now the undead version of him. Tell him how you can turn him into Spock.”

McCoy hesitates.

"Tell him, Bones," De says. "Go on. Tell Leonard the truth."

McCoy’s got his eyes locked on Nimoy. “I can either turn you via your consumption of my bodily fluids--” Nimoy’s eyes flick to the right. “Or I can bite you.”

“And that’s all it takes to turn me into a Vulcan? Biting me? How did you acquire this ability?”

McCoy scowls. “As the man said, I am a vampire. I was attacked in the Sherman Oaks Galleria. I was bitten and turned. I can now reorganize DNA if I so wish. Among other abilities.”

“No kidding,” Nimoy says with a whistle. “So those fangs you’re sporting...are real.”

“They are. Unfortunately.”

“And I’ll be damned if you’re turning Leonard Nimoy into Spock,” De says. “So, McCoy, you go on and get the hell out of here and beam back up to your ship and leave 1967 for good.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute,” Nimoy says, holding up a hand. “If this is the real Bones, then where’s the real Kirk and Spock? If you turned me into Spock, wouldn’t you then have two Spocks on your hands?”

“You can put the phaser down, Mr. Kelley,” McCoy says. “I’m not going to carry out my plan. You’re right. I’m wrong for ignoring the moral aspects, I don’t know what the hell is the matter with me. Why I would even consider such as selfish act. I have no right.”

De lowers the phaser, puts the switch back to stun and hooks it back onto his belt. “Doc, I know you miss your husband. It’s tragic what happened to you and I feel terrible. But this isn’t the answer.”

“Husband?” Nimoy asks. “What are you talking about, De?”

McCoy turns to Nimoy. “Spock and I were married.”

“To each other?”

“Yes.”

“What happened? Did you get a divorce?” Nimoy asks.

“No. He...he’s dead. He was killed.” McCoy’s voice breaks at that, he grimaces as he’s obviously fighting back tears. “At the Sherman oaks galleria, him and Jim Kirk. Killed by the same god forsaken vampire that attacked and turned me. Jim and Spock are both dead.”

“Dead?” Nimoy breathes. “Oh my God. Spock's dead? Oh my God."

“He wanted you for a replacement Spock.” De says softly. “I’m sorry Dr. McCoy. I grieve with you.” He reaches out to pat the doctor’s arm.

McCoy glances down. “I know.” He looks back up at De. “Hand me my equipment.”

De hands over the phaser, tri-corder, medical kit and communicator. 

McCoy flips open his communicator. “McCoy to Enterprise.”

Nimoy clamps his hand onto McCoy’s arm. “Wait.”

McCoy flips the communicator closed. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t about to leave without saying goodbye.”

Nimoy’s hand tightens on the doctor’s arm. “All you have to do is bite me and then I’m Spock? It’s that easy?”

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” De counters. 

McCoy flicks a glance over to De, then to Nimoy. “You would not only be Spock, but a vampire version of Spock.”

Nimoy shrugs. “I don’t mind.” 

“Yes, you would. You would stop consuming any kind of food as we know it. You would be forced to feed on plasma.”

“Spock is a vegetarian,” Nimoy says.

“He wouldn’t be anymore, he wouldn’t be able to help it. You would be forced to consume blood against your will.”

“What would happen to my personality as it stands now?”

“That would become the human half of Spock. Leonard Nimoy would be absorbed.”

“Would I become immortal?” 

“Yes...for the most part. There is certain things that can kill a Vampire but not many.”

“Wooden stake through the heart?” De asks.

“Yeah, that’s one way. Another way is to vaporize them with a phaser--I think. But other than that, you would be immune to disease and would not expire from most injuries, there would be no death from old age. You’d exist for all eternity, with little to enjoy.”

“Enjoy?” Nimoy says with a chuckle. “Obviously vampires can have sex and I do enjoy sex.”

“Well, yes they can. But, notice I said you’d ‘exist’, you would not truly be alive any longer. You would watch everyone you love and care about die of old age around you, while you stay precisely the same age,” McCoy replies. “Not a pleasant thought.”

“But you are immortal. The same age forever,” Nimoy says.

“Yes, I am most certainly doomed to that," McCoy replies.

“So, logically, not every loved one around me would die,” Nimoy replies. "One in particular would stay with me, forever. If I was immortal."

“Leonard, wait!” De says. “Don’t tell me you’re seriously considering this!”

“Bite me,” Nimoy tells McCoy.

“Bite you?” McCoy says.

“Sink your teeth into me. Change me. I want to be Vampire Spock.”

__________________  
on to the next chapter...


	21. Chapter 21

De shakes his head. “Leonard, no!” he yells, waving his hands to break the man's crazy spell. “Think a minute what this means! What about your life here on Earth?”

Nimoy has a determined look on his Saturine features. “I want to be on the real Enterprise, De."

“But...but...what about the show?” De asks.

“They can hire Martin Landau to replace me on STAR TREK.”

“Martin Landau?!” De sputters. “Martin Landau? He can't replace you. You're irreplaceable!" 

"Well, thanks, De. I'm glad you think so. But nobody's irreplaceable."

"Don’t be a fool, Leonard! Martin Landau can’t play Spock. You’re Spock! What about your acting career? You’ve worked so hard to get this far.”

“I want to be on the real starship Enterprise with Dr. McCoy.”

“This is crazy!” De tells him. “You don’t know what the hell you want!" He turns on McCoy. "It's your fault! You did this to him! You begiled him, you seduced him, you son of a bitch! You fucking siren!"

McCoy nods. “Mr. Kelley's right. Leonard, I tricked you into thinking I was DeForest. Mr. Kelley is a wise man, Leonard. Listen to him. You don’t want this. You don’t want me. You want him.” McCoy points at De. “You thought I was DeForest. That's who you really want. Leonard, please. Don't. You sure as hell don’t want to be a vampire, take it from me.”

Nimoy shakes his head. “This is my decision. It IS you I want to spend my life with. It's you, Bones. I want you. I want to be with you for eternity. I want all that it entails. Change me. Please, Bones.”

McCoy steps back, holds up his hands. “No. I can’t do this. I should never have come here. Never should have interfered with any of your lives. I made a terrible mistake." He flips open the communicator. “McCoy to Enterprise."

Nimoy reaches over and holds onto the communicator, slamming it shut. His hand clamps onto McCoy's wrist. 

“Dammit! No!” McCoy says.

“What do you want me to do, Bones, beg? Will you--” Nimoy grimaces. “Give me one chance at happiness, to spend eternity as Spock traveling through the universe with you by my side? I love you, Leonard McCoy.”

“Leonard!" De says. "No! Don't do it!" 

McCoy shakes his head. “It’s not as romantic as you’re making it sound. You’ll regret it.”

“I will not. I want to be the real Spock. Vampire Spock. Vampire Spock is still Spock. You want me to be Spock, I can see it in your beautiful blue eyes. You’re torn. You love him. You miss him. You're devistated. I can fill that role. The role of a lifetime.”

McCoy scowls. “What I want is not important right now, what I must do--the logical thing to do, as Spock was so fond of saying--is to return to my ship and have Scotty put me in the brig.” He tries to shake his wrist free. “Let me go, Leonard.”

“Not until you change me into Spock. I want to be with you.” Nimoy cups the back of McCoy’s face, pulls him forward and kisses him. The kiss continues for several moments until De clears his throat impatiently and blushes. They break apart. “I bet I even kiss like Spock does.”

McCoy nods. “Yes, you do. But I still can’t change you into Spock. There’s Earth’s history to consider, taking you away from this planet at this time will affect history.” He takes a deep breath. “Much as I want to, much as I loved Spock. I can’t do it. I've accepted that he's gone. I've accepted Captain Kirk is gone. I have to move on from that.”

“Hey, wait a minute, doesn’t swapping spit change somebody into a vampire?” De wonders.

“Oddly enough that won't do the trick,” McCoy tells him.

 _“Kelley!”_

The three turn around. “Oh shit!” De says. “It’s Irving Feinberg after his props! Let’s get out of here!”

The three take off running, with the prop master in hot pursuit. 

“I’m gonna get you, Kelley, think my props are toys?!” Feinberg closes in on them. He opens his mouth, exposing huge, white fangs. 

"Holy shit! Are those real fangs or fake ones?" Nimoy yells out as they run.

"I don't know!" De says. 

"I can't tell from here," McCoy says.

"You mean you tell if somebody's a real vampire? You can't identify one of your own kind?" De asks. "Well, a lot of help you are, Bones!"

"Not when everybody's got these crazy halloween costumes on. It's confusing me!" McCoy spins his tri-corder around. "I have to take a reading!"

"There's no time for that! Lets get out of here, he's madder than a wet hen! Holy shit!" De says as Feinberg continues to advance upon them. 

Feingberg chases them out of the New York Street, past the water tower, past the commensary, past the water tank parking lot, past Lucille Ball's office.

"KEEEEEELLLLLLLEEEEYYYYY" Feinberg screams out. "I'm gonna get youuuuuuu!"

“Irving!” Nimoy yells out, “what the fuck are you doing?!”

“I’m gonna get you, Kelley!" Irving bellows back at them. "Nobody steals my props and lives to tell about it!”

"Lives to tell about it? Irving have you gone crazy?" Nimoy yells back.

They get far enough ahead of him, manage to lose Feinberg. De’s heart pounds. He feels Nimoy and McCoy on his heels. 

“What the fuck is going on with Irving?” Nimoy hisses. 

“I don't know. I don't know!" 

"He's gotta be a vampire," De says. "Nobody's THAT angry."

"I said I don't know!" McCoy says. "I don't know. If he is we're in real trouble."

“It's probably just fake fangs. He can’t be a vampire,” Nimoy protests, “he’s the prop master. He's just being an asshole. He’s always been the prop master.”

McCoy halts and turns to Nimoy. “Always been the prop master? For how long?” 

“Seems like....forever. Hey, De, you’ve been at Paramount since the 40’s, wasn't Feinberg working there as a prop master?” Nimoy says. 

“Yeah, he--” De sucks in his breath. “Oh my God. Feinberg has always been the prop master. Every show I've been on, he's been the prop master. He looks exactly the same age as when I was in my very first show."

"What year was that?" McCoy says.

"1947."

"Twenty years ago," McCoy replies. "That's not that long of a time."

"But wait a minute. Feinberg's always looked precisely the same. Young. He hasn't aged 20 years!"

“Well then, maybe he IS a vampire. Maybe Desilu is full of vampires,” Nimoy says. “Maybe Hollywood is crawling with them.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it," De says. "Hollywood sure sucks the life out of you.”

“If Feinberg's truly a vampire-- then there's more here,” McCoy whispers. "We're like roaches. Never is just one roaming an area. Unless he's from the--"

“Kelley!” Feinberg’s voice explodes from behind them. 

They spin around. McCoy holds up his phaser. "Mr. Feinberg. I suggest you halt, Sir. This is real working phaser. Not a prop. This will destroy you."

Feinberg closes in. "Give me back my goddamned prop, Kelley," he growls in the most inhuman voice ever imaginable.

Feinberg creeps closer. 

"Feinberg," McCoy says. "I'm going stun you, if you do not stop."

"I'm going to get you, Kelley." 

McCoy presses the trigger. The beam dances out and hits Feinberg. The prop master staggers back a meter, then laughs. 

“No effect," McCoy says. 

"Wow!" Nimoy says. "Look at that phaser beam! Neat!"

McCoy holds up his tri-corder, takes a quick reading. "He's a vampire alright. No life signs." 

"Oh my God!" De says.

"We're fucked!" Nimoy says. 

McCoy switches the stun setting over to vaporize. He aims at Feinberg and fires. Again there's no effect. 

Feinberg laughs. 

“I thought you said a phaser beam would kill a vampire?” De asks.

“I was wrong, dead wrong,” McCoy replies.

Feinberg advances and De realizes he's cornered by the prop master. He can't get away. Feinberg's eyes are glowing red, he's pale. He shows those fangs yet again.

De freezes.

"That's it, Kelley," Feinberg hisses. "You're mine. Wait for me. You can't get away. You look delicious."

With a yell, Nimoy pushes Feinberg, catching the vampire off guard, making him move a foot to the side and creating just enough of a diversion so that De can run past him. 

“Let's get out of here!” Nimoy hisses and points. 

The three of them hightail it towards the Star Trek stages, finally reaching the dressing room trailers. Nimoy glances around, notices part of a wooden fence. He breaks off a piece. “Wooden stake through the heart, right, Bones?"

“Leonard,” De says, huffing and puffing, “Wait...wait a minute. You’re not really gonna go around stabbing people through the chest?”

“Only Irving Feinberg. And only because he's a vampire.” Nimoy hefts the stake. "I'm ready."

"We can't do this!" De says. "We can't murder people just because we think he's a vampire!"

“He is a vampire. There’s no other way to stop Feinberg, Mr. Kelley,” McCoy tells him. “I’m sorry. Phasers won’t stop vampires, bullets won't, none of your 20th century devices, nothing.”

“It’s barbaric,” De says.

“I know.”

“Are you sure a wooden stake will actually stop Irving Feinberg?”

“No,” McCoy replies, “I’m not sure of anything right now, but we have to try.”

Nimoy motions towards his dressing room. “Quick! In here, we’ll barricade the door.” The three dart inside, slamming the door shut. Nimoy locks it.

"That lock won't keep him out, he's got superhuman strength." McCoy aims his phaser, melting the door handle. "Push the sofa against it. That will buy us some time."

“We can’t stay in here forever,” De says. 

McCoy flips open his communicator. "McCoy to Enterprise. Come in Enterprise." There's no response.

"They're having difficulty up there," De tells him. "They tried to beam down some security guards with me, I'm the only one who made it down."

"Those vampires have to be interfering with transmissions," McCoy says. “Mr. Kelley, where’d you beam up to the ship from? What precise location?”

“Huh? Just...my bathroom.”

“At your house?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we get to our cars in the parking lot?” Nimoy says. "Go to De's house. We could contact Mr. Scott there. Get some reinforcements from the ship."

_**Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!** _

“It’s Feinberg,” McCoy whispers. 

They watch in terror as the door suddenly crashes inward, then the sofa moves aside by an unnatural force. 

Irving Feinberg forces his way inside, bursting through the gap in the metal door as if it was nothing. “I have you now, Kelley!” 

De backs up as the prop master advances upon him. “Get out guys! Get out while you can! Save yourselves!” He feels his body hit the wall, oh oh. Trapped. Again. 

Feinberg shows off a snarly smile, the exposed fangs dripping spit, they’re white shiny and at the ready. "At last."

De can't move a muscle. He stares into Feinberg's bloodshot eyes. A single tear falls down his face. He's done for. "Carolyn...." he breathes out.

Feinberg lunges forward. 

McCoy suddenly steps into the prop master's path. De's able to scramble away and stand next to Nimoy. Nimoy's arms close around De, protectively and they watch in horror as McCoy and Feinberg struggle. Feinberg seems to be stronger than McCoy. Probably been a vampire for a lot longer. Feinberg bares his teeth in a grotesque grimace. His face gets close to the doctor, those sharp fangs make contact with McCoy’s neck, penetrate, then sink into him. McCoy grunts in pain then kneels down onto the blue shag carpeting. Feinberg follows him to the floor.

"I'm just like you, Irving Feinberg. I'm one of your own kind," McCoy gasps out. "You can't kill me. You're making a mistake." He smiles. Those teeth drive in further into McCoy's neck. "You don't give up, do you, you silly vampire. You're gonna give yourself a belly ache. You can't feed on me." 

"Bones!" Nimoy says. 

"Dr. McCoy!" De says. "Leonard! Do something!"

Nimoy stares down at the wooden stake in his hands. He hesitates.

Feinberg's teeth sink all the way in, down to the hilt. McCoy cries out then giggles. "Feinberg... doesn't want to.... listen to reason. Okay, drink up. Better me than the Humans."

McCoy's eyes flutter closed. 

____________________  
on to the next chapter....


	22. Chapter 22

With a yell, Nimoy grabs Feinberg’s arm, yanking the vampire around to face him. He raises up the wooden stake and slams it deep into the prop master's chest. 

Feinberg emits an unearthly screech. He convulses for several minutes. 

"Oh my God!" De yells out.

Feinberg struggles one last time, foaming at the mouth. Finally he collapses onto the carpet.

Nimoy stares down at Feinberg, down at the stake embedded into the prop master. He stares at his hands. 

"It's horrible!" De says. Feinberg’s body is now a steaming, rotted skeleton, the skull exposed and frozen into a wretched expression. 

McCoy lays motionless on the floor. His eyes remain closed, blood streams from the bite. "Bones," Nimoy says. "Bones!" De and Nimoy hurry over and kneel down on either side of the doctor. Nimoy grabs McCoy's hand. "Cold," he says. 

“He’s dead,” De says.

McCoy opens his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a vampire. A little bite from my own kind is not gonna do me in. I tried to tell Feinberg he couldn't feed on me, it's a waste of time.” 

“You’re bleeding.” De digs into the medical kit on McCoy's hip. “Want something to stop it? I think there’s some gauze in here.”

McCoy bats De's hands away. “No, no, it’ll stop on it’s own.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m a doctor, of course I’m sure.”

Nimoy chuckles and shakes his head. "Are you sure you're alright?" 

"Perfectly fine." McCoy glances over at the rotting Feinberg corpse. "Nicely done, Leonard. Now that's how you stop a vampire in its tracks. Not a pretty sight."

"Will Irving stay like that?" De asks.

"As long as the stake remains where it is."

"I can't believe I just killed Irving Feinberg," Nimoy says. Regret in his voice. "I've never killed anyone."

"He was already dead. Undead. Unfortunately. I'm sorry." McCoy scrambles to his feet. De and Nimoy grab his arms to help him up.

“If what you said before is correct and there's more vampires, you’re gonna need Spock's help,” Nimoy whispers. 

An anguished noise rises up from De's throat. "Leonard!" 

"All you have to do is bite me?" Nimoy asks McCoy. "And then I change? That's it? Really?"

McCoy nods. 

De covers his mouth and gasps again. "No!" 

Nimoy looks over at De, inclines his head. "Come here." He grabs De's arm, pulls him to sit down together on the sofa. "You understand how much I want this, right?"

"What about...Sandra?"

"We're getting a divorce, De. There's nothing keeping me here."

There's a long silence. "Well," De finally says. "Alright. Then, uh...maybe you should go for it."

"Think so?"

"Yeah," De says. "McCoy needs you. You need McCoy. You two love each other. It's just that...I'll miss you." 

"I'll miss you too, De." Nimoy leans forward, presses his forehead against De's. 

McCoy comes up to them. "Leonard...uh... if I'm going to do this to you, you'll need to lie down."

De stands up so that Nimoy can fully stretch out on the sofa. McCoy kneels down next to him. 

"Will it hurt?" Nimoy asks. 

McCoy nods. 

"Well, do it before I change my mind." Nimoy turns and exposes his neck. He seems to steel himself. He closes his eyes. "Goodbye, De. I love you."

"Goodbye, Leonard. I love you, too," De says with a heavy heart. McCoy turns and looks up to meet De's eyes. De nods back at McCoy. 

The doctor leans over and bites down on Nimoy's flesh.

Nimoy screams in agony.

*

After several minutes, Nimoy stops thrashing around. 

Kelley's watching with wide blue eyes. “I thought you said he would turn into Spock? It’s looks like you’ve killed him!”

“Who’s the doctor around here, huh?” McCoy pulls the type II scanner out of his medi-kit, it whirls as he scans Nimoy. “Actually, if you wish to be technical, you are correct, I did kill him. He has no more vital signs.”

Nimoy blinks his eyes open, but they're glassy, he does not appear to see. His chest begins to rise and fall, simulating breathing. 

“He has respiration,” Kelley says. “How is he able to breathe if he's dead?”

“It is an allusion that vampires maintain. There is no pulse, there is no real respiration,” McCoy replies. “He appears to have life, but this is the state of the un-dead.”

Nimoy groans and shifts again on the sofa. He tries to sit up but McCoy pushes him down. "Easy. Just stay there," McCoy murmurs. "It'll be all over soon."

Nimoy’s complexion shifts from pink to green. He cries out in pain as his ears stretch into points, the eyebrows transform from curved to slanted. 

"Wow," Kelley says. "I can't believe what I'm witnessing."

“My scanner will need to be recalibrated for a Vulcan vampire. Based on solely my visual examination of his skin, his "blood" is no longer fully iron based, now it is copper with iron factors--as Spock’s was. As Spock's is. His internal organs are reorganized, changed. His heart should now be over there." McCoy points. "I cannot confirm brain patterns at this time, until I can perform a proper examination on board the Enterprise." 

Kelley blinks. "I can't believe what's just happened. Leonard? Leonard? Can you hear me?”

The figure on the sofa finally looks over at Kelley, raises an eyebrow. “Leonard is not my name.”

“What is your name?” McCoy whispers.

“I am Spock.”

“Spock?”

“Affirmative.”

“Rank and serial number and personal status,” McCoy says.

“Commander, First Officer/Science Officer USS Enterprise, 81A34567T.” Spock holds up two fingers. “Beloved."

McCoy smiles, bites his lip.

Suddenly, Spock springs to his feet. "I hunger."

"Woah," McCoy says, jumping up from the sofa and holding onto Spock's arms. "Wait. Wait."

"What's happening?" Kelley asks. 

Spock sniffs the air. "Food."

"Spock," McCoy says. "Spock. No. Spock!" 

Spock shakes off McCoy and suddenly has Kelley cornered. Spock bares his fangs, ready to attack. Kelley screams. 

McCoy's on Spock like a shot, trying to pull him away. "No, no, no. He's not prey. He's not food. Alright, Spock? You know him, don't you? This Human is DeForest, your friend."

Spock slowly backs off of the Human. "DeForest. My apologies."

Kelley leans over and grabs onto his knees in relief. "Holy shit. I thought I was done for."

McCoy leads Spock back over to the sofa and sits him down. "Sorry about that Mr. Kelley. New Vampire's mistake. We can't eat everybody we see. No matter how tasty they might smell, right Spock?"

"Acknowledged."

"You sure do have some scary lookin' fangs, Mr. Spock," Kelley says, still visibly shaking. "I'll tell ya that! How you gonna keep him from sucking up everybody's blood?"

"I don't know," McCoy says in all honesty.

"You sure didn't have this evil plan very well thought out, did you, Bones!" Kelley snaps. "What about one of those damned potions you have in that black bag of yours?" 

McCoy brings a thumb to his mouth, rubs on his own fang. "I can't do anything for him, right now. The control takes some time."

"Control," Spock says. "Control."

"Yes. _C'thia_ , you remember that, Spock. The Vulcan mind rules. Right?"

"I am in control of my urges and emotions."

"That's it," McCoy says. "That's it!" 

Spock glances over at Kelley a tinge of regret in those hazel eyes. "I am quite famished."

Kelley backs away from Spock. "You know uh... guys...should I leave you alone?"

"No. It's better that Spock becomes acclimated to a Human's scent."

"You sure?"

"It's alright, Mr. Kelley," McCoy assures the Human. 

Kelley flicks his thumb. "I could uh...just wait outside a moment. I need a cigarette anyway."

"I am fighting my urge," Spock says. "Do not be concerned." He thinks for a moment. "My bond. I cannot feel you, Leonard."

"Feel him?" Kelley asks. "What do you mean?"

"Spock and I are bondmates," McCoy explains to Kelley. "At least we were. Before the...attack."

"The reinstatement of our bond, would assist me in my control in these initial stages," Spock explains. 

"I don't know what a bondmate is, is that like what happened in 'Amok Time'?" Kelley asks. "Y'know, like with T'Pring?"

"Essentially," Spock replies. "One touches the other and their minds are linked."

Kelley smiles. "That sounds kinda romantic. You want privacy while you two love birds find your love connection? You're not gonna consummate this right here in the dressing room are ya? That's not really a spectator sport. I'm not a pervert or anything. So uh...I'll just--"

"Oh we're not consummating anything physically," McCoy tells Kelley. "Mentally only."

"StilI...uh...I think I'm gonna step outside and smoke. Okay?"

"Your absence truly is unnecessary," Spock replies. "We do not require privacy for this."

"I think Mr. Kelley is desperate for a cigarette," McCoy says. "We'll be five minutes or less," he tells Kelley. "Stay right outside. Watch for vampires. Be careful out there."

Kelley's already out the door. 

McCoy chuckles. 

Spock raises his hand. "Parted but never parted from me, Beloved."

_________________  
on to the next chapter...


	23. Chapter 23

As De exits the Nimoy dressing room he feels down his body. "Cigarettes. Cigarettes." The Enterprise uniform doesn't have pockets. Of course it doesn't. Bill Theiss hadn't designed them with pockets. So it's logical that the real uniforms won't have 'em either. 

He's got a carton of smokes in his own dressing room. For emergencies.

He hastens over to his nearby trailer, gets the door open. Finds that carton, well he doesn't have to look hard for it, the Marlboro's are right there out in the open, like a welcoming friend, sitting on the vanity table. He rips open the carton and fishes out a pack. Yanks off the plastic. Finally has a fresh cig in his mouth, lighting it with a flick of his zippo lighter. He relaxes somewhat, takes another drag on the cig and then another, blowing the smoke over his head. He rummages around in his vanity drawer, looking for that half full bottle of vodka. He pulls it out, finds a glass, pours himself a shot. He downs it like he used to do back in Long Beach in that bar at the Pike, him and Jack. Before he met Carolyn.

He closes his eyes. Vampires. It's unbelievable. 

The reality hits him like a ton of bricks: Lenny Nimoy is gone now. The man ceases to exist. Lenny's turned into...the real green blooded, Vulcan Spock. 

Spock. Who would have thought this could happen, that the show was in fact, real. "I'll be damned." 

He plonks down in his vanity chair. Lenny's gone. Lenny's gone. He's really gone. 

"He's gone," De whispers. He pours himself another shot. Now don't go getting drunk, you ol' sap. Gotta keep your wits about ya at a time like this. 

Tears falling down his face, he has to laugh in between his sadness, chuckle at this crazy situation. Vampires at Desilu. Leonard's turned into Vampire Spock. He's an alien now. An alien who wants to suck people's blood. Fascinating. This has gotta be one hell of a joke. If that damned Dr. Leonard McCoy wasn't sitting in Leonard's dressing room with Spock right now--doing whatever the hell it is they're doing in there-- he would be certain that this was all just a crazy-- 

That's the STAR TREK set for you. Always playing practical jokes on each other. 

It can't be real. But he saw that ship up there with his own eyes. Walked the decks. Felt the throb of the engines under his feet. Talked to Scotty, M'Benga, the crew. Hassled by those redshirts. He's wearing a goddamned Enterprise uniform. If this all isn't real, he's going insane. 

Right in front of Carolyn he'd beamed out of his bathroom, into the Enterprise transporte--

"Carolyn!" He scrambles out of his dressing room. 

*

"Parted from me and never parted," Spock says.

McCoy holds up a hand, intercepting Spock's probing fingers. "Spock, wait."

Spock raises an eyebrow. 

"Are you sure you want this again?" McCoy asks. "With me?"

"Of course. You are my husband," Spock tells him. 

McCoy drops his hand. "Alright. Just making sure." 

Spock's fingers land on McCoy's face and in an instant the dressing room fades away, now they're on board the ship, naked and together on their bunk in their quarters. McCoy's legs are up on Spock's shoulders, Spock's on top of him, head dipped forward, eyes closed, mouth parted. A small cry escapes his lips. Spock's thrusting into him. Hard, just the way he likes it. He thought he'd never feel that again. Spock inside of him. "Oh, Spock." 

The scene shifts so that now they're in that post coital cuddle that he used to take for granted. Never again. His head rests on Spock's chest, rising and falling with Spock's breaths, his hands move up, the soft hair on Spock's body tickles his palm. He looks up. Spock's watching him. There's that love in those hazel eyes again. 

Spock removes the hand from his face and it's only been seconds later and they're back again in the Desilu dressing room, sitting fully clothed on the sofa. 

"Sp...o...ck...." He can't help it, he breaks down in tears. He screws his eyes shut.

He feels those familiar two fingers stroke his face, consoling him. 

*

De skids to a stop in front of the soundstage pay phone. Somebody's already standing here, using it. Dammit. He waits politely behind the guy that he's never seen before. Wonder if this guy's a vampire. Who is this guy, anyway? A guest at the Halloween party, probably. The man turns around, flashes a toothy grin. Don't see any fangs on him. That's a relief. 

Spock and Bones did tell him to stay close, but he didn't listen, did he. 

De smiles back at the man. The guy turns back to his phone call. 

De twists his mouth, impatiently. Trying not to tap his boot. Wonders what time it is. Must be pretty late. _Hurry up. Calm down. The stranger will be done in a second._ He sighs. Too bad they don't have Enterprise communicators to talk on for real here on Earth. Phones the size of communicators. Sure would make things a lot easier, not having to wait in line for the pay phone. 

He takes a long drag on his cigarette. Blows it out. _Come on....hurry up._

The guy turns around. Pulls the phone receiver away from his mouth. "Do you need to use the phone?"

De chuckles, maybe it's more like an apologetic giggle. "Yeah...."

"I'll just be a moment," the guy says. 

"Alright." The man turns around, back to his call. De takes another drag on his cig. Itches his nose. Listens to 'Monster Mash' coming from the loud speakers. "The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash." He must have been saying that out loud, since the man turns again and smiles at him. De stops singing and blushes. 

Finally the man says his goodbyes, hangs up the phone. "All yours," the man says. 

"Thanks!" 

The man stares at his Enterprise uniform. "Say, uh. Aren't you Dr. McCoy?"

"Yeah," De says. 

"Say, would you mind signing an autograph for my kid? He loves your show."

"Oh sure!" The man hands over his autograph book and pen, he takes it from the man. "Who do I make it out to?"

"Steven."

De writes out: _'To Steven. Live Long and Prosper. Signed, DeForest Kelley, aka Dr. McCoy'_. He hands it back to the man and gives back the pen. 

"Thanks!"

"You're welcome." He watches the mysterious man leave before turning back to the phone. Dime. Oh shit. No dime for a phone call. Dammit. He picks up the receiver. "Operator, I need to make a collect call." The operator's voice kinda sounds like Lily Tomlin from "Laugh In", that operator: 'one ringy dingy, two ringy dingy' and he snickers. 

The operator says: " _Pardon?_ " 

"Oh, sorry. I was just--" He turns around in place and notices Robert Justman, their associate producer, standing right behind him, obviously waiting to use the phone. Bob Justman nods at him. De grins back. "Never mind," he tells the operator. He sticks the cig in the corner of his mouth. 

There's a click on the line. " _Hello?_ " It's Carolyn. 

De spins back around to face the pay phone and is about to reply when the operator says to Carolyn: " _Good evening Ma'am, I have a collect call from--_ "

"De," he tells the operator. 

" _From 'De'. Do you accept the charges?_ "

" _No,_ " Carolyn says.

"No?!"" he says. "What do you mean 'no'?"

" _I meant 'yes',_ " Carolyn says. 

The call connects, the operator leaves the line. "Hello?" he says.

"De?"

"Yeah! Carolyn what do you mean 'no'? You don't want to talk to your own husband?"

" _I meant 'yes'!_ "

"Sure you did!" he jokes.

" _I made a mistake! Where are you?_ " Carolyn asks.

"I'm at Desilu, I'm calling to tell you I'm alright!"

" _Oh good! DId you beam up to the Enterprise? You disappeared into thin air. I was worried!_ "

"Yeah, Honey and boy do I have a story to tell you about the real starship Enterprise, when I get home! Boy is it something. It's huge! Man! I can't get over how big it is."

" _Alright!_ "

"Hang tight at home, don't go anyplace. Keep the doors locked. I'll be home in few hours."

" _Okay, De. Be careful._ "

"I will. Hey Honey? I love you. Don't you ever forget that. Alright?"

" _I love you, too, De._ "

"Okay. Bye Honey!"

He hangs up the phone, realizing that Bob Justman was most likely listening to every word he'd said (no privacy around here). He turns around feeling embarrassed. "All yours Bob."

He jumps. Bob Justman is now standing a little too close for comfort. 

"Oh, why thank you, DeForest," Justman replies with extreme politeness.

Bob's got a slight lisp. 

Funny. He doesn't usually. 

________________________  
on to next chapter...


	24. Chapter 24

He steps aside politely for the producer. But Justman doesn't move up to use the phone, just stares back at him. Eyeing him in a sinister, odd, glassy eyed way. 

' _Run_ ', De thinks. ' _Run you fool!_ '. Justmans's eyes are bloodshot. He's gotta be a vampire. Get the hell out of here now. But instead, with a sinking feeling in his heart and a tremor in his voice, he asks: "Something I can help you with, Bob?" 

"Yes, DeForest," Justman says. "As as matter of fact you can." He smiles, showing off those telltale fangs. 

_Oh shit_. Idiot. Should have gotten the hell out of here when he had the chance. Now it's too late, he can't move. He's rooted in spot. 

"You're mine," Justman whispers with a lisp. "Right, Baby?" 

De opens his mouth in a silent scream. Not again. Justman effortlessly rips the blue tunic and the black undershirt, leaving De's neck bare, more accessible for feeding--blood sucking. De's aware of his breathing-- short, spiky, terrified huffs-- because he's in within seconds of dying, exsanguination, a most painful, excruciating death-- and there's not a damned thing he can do about it. 

Justman leans over, sniffs him, hums in pleasure. He pauses a moment. "Sorry, De. I like you. You're a good man. But I'm starving. So very hungry. I need to eat. You understand, don't you, Baby?"

De gasps, a strangled gulp, in a feeble attempt to beg for his life. 

Those fangs glisten. De's eyes follow them as they connect with his neck. He grunts at the prick. Oh, this is gonna hurt. Bad. He closes his eyes. _Carolyn_. 

Justman suddenly slides off of him and drops to the concrete soundstage floor, unconscious. 

Spock steps into the breach. 

Suddenly De's able to move again, but this isn't much better. Spock's just as much of a vampire as Bob Justman and just as hungry. He backs away. "No!"

Spock's hand clamps onto his shoulder with a vice like grip. "Come."

Whether he wants to or not, he's going where Spock wants him to. He glances down at Bob Justman crumpled onto the ground. "Did you put a stake through his heart?"

"I delivered a Vulcan Nerve Pinch. Come. We are running out of time."

"Are you nuts? Why didn't you kill him? A nerve pinch isn't gonna last long, minutes maybe and then what? He'll come after us! He knows I'm juicy, fresh, delicious meat!" 

"Come, De." Spock pulls him out of the stages, marching him back towards the dressing rooms. 

De tries to yank his arm away. Spock isn't having it. "Let me go."

"Not until you are safe, De."

"Hanging around you and Bones isn't what I'd consider safe!" He tries to pull away again. Spock squeezes his arm tighter. "Let me go, dammit!" 

Spock finally forces him back into his own dressing room. Bones is already there, waiting. 

"You!" De seethes at the other Vampire. "You son of a bitch!" Spock sets him down on his sofa, finally letting go of him. He rubs his arm. Gonna be one hell of a bruise there. 

"Was he bitten?" McCoy asks, coming closer. 

"I'm alright. I'm alright!" De tells him, but McCoy's ignoring him, looking over at Spock. 

"There did not appear to be any penetration. I reached him just in time." 

McCoy moves aside De's ripped tunic to examine the bare neck. "You are one lucky man."

"The hell I am!" De stands up, pushes McCoy off of him. He darts over to his vanity table, opens up the small wardrobe nearby. 

"Where are you doing?" McCoy demands. 

"I have a change of clothing in here. For emergencies. Usually it's in case I spill some coffee or booze on my street clothes. Never thought I'd need it for a vampire attack."

"There are more vampires, obviously. I only delivered a nerve pinch," Spock says to McCoy.

"Like roaches, you said." De pulls off his tunic. "Didn't you say that? Rats even. Never just one. Why in the hell didn't you slam a stake into Bob's heart, Spock? He's a vampire, right?" 

Spock hesitates. 

De spins around. "Vulcan's can't kill? Even Vulcan vampires, huh? Let me guess, you only kill for food? Not for protection? Can't kill other vampires? Hell, Leonard Nimoy was doing just fine in that department!, you saw what he did to Irving!" De pulls off the black trousers, and boots, finally dives into a pair of brown cords and a green shirt. He picks up his pack of smokes and his zippo and slides them into his breast pocket. "Turn into a Vulcan... you've lost all touch with humanity. You really are an alien. A green blooded son a bitch."

Spock's suddenly next to him. "De."

"Where's my fucking car keys? Which one of you lunatics has got my goddamned car keys? Oh that's right, you do, you fucking asshole," De says to McCoy. "You're the one who stole my car. Give me my keys back, I'm gettin' out of here."

"De."

He stops his tirade. "What?"

"It is still me."

"Still who?" De says with scowl. "You're Spock."

"I am still Leonard. My human half is Leonard Nimoy." 

De glances over, meets those familiar hazel eyes. "Leonard? You're in there?"

"Affirmative."

"So Leonard and Spock exist in your mind, together?" 

"Essentially, yes."

"Like...multiple personalities? But Leonard's...passionate and emotional, artistic. Spock is...logical, devoid of emotion." 

"Spock is plenty passionate," McCoy calls over from the sofa. "Keeps it in check most of the time. In public."

"I can't picture Spock wearing a paisley shirt, though. You should see some of the stuff he turns up for work in," De tells McCoy. "Makes me scratch my head sometimes. Hippy clothes."

"What about your striped trousers?" Spock counters. "Red cowboy boots?"

"Hey! It takes a real man to wear those!" De says. "Listen, I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm not usually like that."

"It is of no consequence."

De marvels at Spock's pointed ears, tilts his head.

"Would you like to touch them?" Spock asks.

De nods. Spock leans down, so that he can explore. He runs a finger along the pinna to the tip. He chuckles in spite of everything. "Wow."

Spock turns away as De sits down in his chair to put on his shoes. "I am assuming command of this landing party as of 22:00 hours," Spock informs them. 

"Acknowledged," McCoy says, handing over the tri-corder and communicator. 

Spock fiddles with the device. "I am recalibrating the tri-corder to register Vampircal undead signs. As soon as you are ready to depart, De."

De stands up. "Wait...You're not...considering me a member of your landing party are you?"

"Of course," Spock says. 

"No, no, no. Wait a minute. I have a wife at home. A dog. A turtle. I don't want to get involved--"

"We need your help," Spock tells him. 

De sighs. "Something tells me I'm gonna regret this."

*

Outside the dressing rooms, Spock grabs another wooden stake from the nearby fence. He scans the area with his tri-corder. "There are several more vampires inside the soundstage. We must act fast to eradicate them.” The three walk the short distance to the stages.

“How do you pick up Vampire life signs?” Kelley whispers to Spock as they move. 

“Vampires do not register as life signs, merely a previously living object with undecaying tissue.”

“Fascinating,” Kelley says with some sarcasm in his voice. Spock glances at him sharply. 

The reach the soundstage door. McCoy reaches over to another nearby wooden fence, pulls out and hands over another wooden stake to the Human who reluctantly takes it from him, then another for himself. “Are you ready, Mr. Kelley?"

Kelley shakes his head. “No. I can’t tell the difference between a vampire and a human, until the vampire actually attacks me. I mean even you two guys look totally normal, until you show your fangs. A little pale, maybe. But then again, Leonard’s always been peaked looking. What if I accidentally kill an innocent human?”

“Do the cast and crew make a habit of attacking people?” Spock asks.

“Well...no. Not really. Only verbally, maybe. Not physically. Except that one time when Gene and Shatner got into it. Boy, that was something, wasn't it?”

“I remember," Spock replies. "It would logical to assume that one that attempts to bite you, is a vampire,” Spock replies.

“You see, that's the thing. I didn't want to wait until they try to bite me. By then it's too late.”

“Stay close to us, and you will be fine," McCoy tells him.

“You two aren’t attacking me. Why not?”

“The bond,” McCoy says. “We're keeping each other in check. Spock and I will have to feed on human flesh. Eventually. But it will wait.”

Kelley backs away from them. Spock reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him back.

“Don’t worry,” McCoy tries to reassure the man. “We’re not gonna feast on you. Alright? We promise.” 

“Well, if you promise not to kill me, or turn me into another vampire, I’d...you know...cut myself so you could have some...y’know...blood for sustenance as long as you didn’t exanguinate me, that would be okay. I wouldn’t mind.” Kelley gulps. “I would be willing to help you guys out.” He gives out a nervous giggle.

“It would not be a pleasant sensation for you,” Spock replies. “However it is kind of you to offer.” 

"Are you sure you're comfortable with killing, Mr. Spock?" Kelley says. "Nerve pinch ain't gonna work!"

“I shall become used to it." Spock smirks a little. “I need to pay back some vampires for stringing my bicycle up into the rafters.”

Kelley chuckles. “My God, you’re gonna have to kill everybody, we were all in on that!” 

Suddenly there’s hands on Kelley, he yelps as he’s spun around. 

“De!”

“Dorothy? Dorothy!” Kelley shrieks. He looks over at McCoy with wide blue eyes. “Is she human?”

“Human,” McCoy nods. 

“De!” Dorothy Fontana hisses. “Our stages have been taken over by vampires!”

“I know! It’s terrible!”

“On Halloween! What a coincidence!”

“Yeah, sure is!”

She raises up her stake. Blood drips from it. “I had to kill Gene Coon and Herb Solow, just a little while ago!"

Kelley raises his hands to his mouth. "Gene? And Herb too? Oh my--"

"Yeah! I shoved a stake right through the heart! We were sitting there looking over a couple scripts, me drinking a G & T, when they tried to bite me with their huge fangs! At first I thought it was a joke--you know how everybody is--”

"Yeah."

"Then I realized they weren't playing around. They wanted my blood. For real, De. What a trip." 

“You fought off both of them? By yourself?”

“You better believe I did,” Fontana says. “I can’t let them kill me, I have to fix that damned ‘Trouble with Tribbles’ script. It’s still running too long. Goddamned Gerrold and his pica typeface. I don’t know what happened to that kid. Can’t find him anywhere. First we couldn’t get rid of him. Always hanging around the stages. No he won’t take our calls. Didn't show up today.”

Spock motions with his tri-corder. “In here.”

“How many Vampires are there?” McCoy asks him.

“Several.”

They open the soundstage door. 

“Outta my way, guys! I’ve got to hunt more vampires!” Fontana says.

“Dorothy no! You’ll be killed!” Kelley replies.

“Not if I can help it! Well, at the very least, they’ll be a good teleplay from all of this. Think of it, De. The Enterprise, taken over by Vampires! Kirk, Spock and McCoy...Vampire hunters!” She pushes Kelley aside then lunges through the open door.

“You know what?” Kelley says in her wake. “Dorothy didn’t even notice that you were Spock... or that there was two Dr. McCoy's.”

“She knows what happened,” Spock says. “Dorothy Fontana is a very astute individual.”

_________________  
on to next chapter...


	25. Chapter 25

The three turn back to face the soundstage door. It's closed again. 

"Goddamned trick hinge on this thing," De mutters. "Slams shut like a trap." 

There's a shriek of an alarm. The overhead caged warning lamp suddenly flashes red. 

"That's odd," De says. 

"What is?" McCoy asks. 

"Filming lamp," Spock explains. "Soundstage warning. However, it should not be lit at this time. We are wrapped for the shooting day."

"Some drunken guest must be fucking with the lights," De tells him. 

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Unlikely."

McCoy reaches over and pulls on the handle. "Door's stuck. Spock?"

Spock tries to open it. It will not budge for the Vulcan. "There is another entrance on the other side."

As they're about to move, the door pops open. "Oh good," De says. He moves to step through. 

McCoy stops him with a hand on his chest. "Wait, Mr. Kelley."

"For what? I thought we were--"

Suddenly a figure appears in the doorway. "Hi, De! How the hell are ya?" 

De recognizes the voice and relaxes. "Oh, Hi Eddie! I'm fine thanks, how are you?"

"I'm fantastic but--" Eddie glances over at McCoy and Spock. He winks at the both of them. Before De realizes what's happening, he's being slammed hard against the wall. Oh no. "I'll be better very soon." Eddie opens his mouth, shows off huge, white, slick vampire fangs, spit dripping from them. Eddie's ready to feed. De screams.

There's a hand at Eddie's neck. The producer slumps to the ground. 

De stares down at the crumpled body, wills himself to stop shaking. "Spock?"

"Yes, De?" 

"Why didn't you slam a stake into his heart? Eddie Milkis appears to be a vampire! Is he really a vampire?"

"He is indeed a vampire," Spock replies. 

"He's gonna get back up in a couple minutes. Why didn't you kill him?"

"You have a stake in your hands as well," Spock replies. "Perhaps you should do it."

"Why should I? Some super Vulcan vampire you are! I'm not killing Eddie Milkis! This isn't gonna work very well, if you just nerve pinch these evil creatures. They just get right back up again! I'm gonna get eaten!"

"You will be alright," McCoy insists. 

"I will not be alright," De snaps. "You have to kill them! You know what, you two are clueless! You don't know what to do!"

"Fine," McCoy says. "Next vampire that comes through this door, I'll thrust a stake through their heart."

"Well, dammit, do it!" De yells.

"I will!" McCoy snaps back.

"Alright!" De says. "I'm stepping over here, out of sight, so they quit trying to munch on my luscious frame."

Spock rolls his eyes. 

"Next vampire," De says pointing at Spock, "I'm serious you two, stop looking at me like a kicked puppy! Bones, you go ahead and get 'em! You have a stake! You know what to do with it. So dammit, get 'er done!"

"Stop ordering us around, Mr. Kelley! Dammit!" McCoy yells.

"I'm not ordering you around!" De shrieks. 

"Why are we yelling at each other?!" McCoy shouts.

"Because, I--" George Takei appears in the doorway. 

"Hello!" George says with a chuckle.

"Is he? Is he? IS he?!" De asks.

"No!" McCoy shouts. "He's okay!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes, he's Human!" 

George feels down at himself, "Oh my, I sure hope so!" He chuckles. "Oh look, there's two Dr. McCoy's and one Mr. Spock. Hi, Spock!"

"Greetings, George," Spock says, calmly.

"Greetings! Great party!" George chuckles and brushes past them, walks out into the distance. The three watch him for a few moments until he disappears.

"We should have requested George's help," Spock says. 

"Well it's too late now! Isn't it?" De says. "He's drunk anyway." He turns back towards the door. "Next vampire. Bones you get 'em!"

"Fine!" McCoy says, holding up his stake. "I'm ready!"

Another figure appears in the doorway. It's Joe Pevney. "Hi De! Great party we're having!"

De jerks back. "Uh...hello...Joe. Uh...yeah. I...agree."

"Everything alright, De?"

"Uh...yeah."

Joe creeps closer to De. "You sure, Baby?"

"Yeah. Everything's...fine. Joe. Uh...." De takes a sideways step away from the man. Joe moves right with him. De glances over at Spock and McCoy. They appear to be frozen. "Uh...guys? A little help over here?"

McCoy's looking down at his tri-corder. His eyes widen. 

"Guys?" De says. "Hey, guys?"

Joe gets right into De's face. "I wanted to talk to you about todays scene, De." 

De's takes a slight step backwards. His hands tighten on his stake. "Uh...oh...alright...why? Didn't it go okay? I thought it went great, it felt good. You know uh...felt...fine to me. Felt...good.... Seemed... like--"

"Might have to reshoot it, De. The whole scene. It was no good. Watched the dailies. Wasn't very happy with it."

"Oh, really? Oh no. Well, gee, I'm sorry about that Joe." To his relief, De spots McCoy creeping up behind Joe. 

McCoy raises his stake to attack, but suddenly frowns and lowers it. 

Spock attempts the same, he also lowers his stake. He raises his eyebrow instead. 

Something wrong. They can't kill him. He can't do it either, can't kill Joe Pevney their director. Even if the man is now an evil vampire. He's still the best director they ever had. Well, maybe being Pevney's dinner won't be so bad. De closes his eyes, waits for the prick. Suddenly he hears a loud thump. He opens them to find Joe Pevney laying at his feet. "Another nerve pinch, Spock?"

"We're in trouble," McCoy says. He grabs De's arm and pulls him away from the door. They hear it slam shut again like a coffin lid. 

"What do you mean we're in trouble?"

"Spock and I... we can't kill our own kind."

De stares at McCoy a moment. "I had a bad feeling that was the case. What are we gonna do now?" 

"You're going to have to kill them all, Mr. Kelley."

"The vampires?"

"Yes," McCoy says. "The vampires."

"I can't...I can't do that! These people are my friends! I can't slam a stake into their hearts!"

"They're no longer your friends, they're vampires."

"I can't do it. At least, I can't singlehandedly do it. Dorothy Fontana can do it, but I sure can't!"

"Where is Dorothy?" McCoy asks. 

De and Spock both shrug. "Somewhere in there," De says. "I hope she's okay."

"She is," Spock assures them.

McCoy snaps his fingers. "I know who can help us. Bill Shatner!"

"Hey, yeah!" De says. "I think he's in his dressing room! Don't you go turning him into one of you, though!"

"I'm done with that," McCoy says. "I promise."

They take off towards the dressing rooms. "I haven't seen him in a while!" De yells out as they run.

“Most likely because Bill has been engaged in sexual activity in his dressing room the entire time,” Spock reports.

“We hope,” McCoy adds. "He'll be safe that way."

They reach Shatner’s trailer and knock on the door. “Open up!”

“ _I’m busy_!” Shatner calls out.

“Open the door, Bill,” Spock says. “It is imperative that you do so, immediately.”

“ _Leonard...find your own girl_.”

Spock glances at De and McCoy, shrugs, then uses his Vulcan strength to push the door in. They step through. 

Shatner is on his back, on his sofa. An attractive, buxom blonde nude woman is straddling him, fangs bared. 

"Oh no!" De yells out. "She's a vampire!" 

Spock rushes up, delivers a nerve pinch. The blonde falls unceremoniously onto the floor. 

"I wish you'd quit that!" De says to Spock. "It's only temporary!"

"Oh man! What the fuck are you doing?" William Shatner halts, glances from McCoy to De. "Hey, I didn't know you had a twin."

“Bill,” De says, breathlessly, “That broad is a vampire, trying to kill you!”

“Oh, she is? Oh. I thought she was just into some kinky kind of sex.” Shatner pouts. 

“She didn’t bite you, did she?”

“No. Unfortunately.”

“That’s a good thing, Bill.”

“It is?”

“She wanted to feed on you, suck the life out of you,” De tells the man. Shatner smirks at that. “No, that’s not good in this case, Bill. Not good!”

“Well that's a broad for you.” Shatner sighs and gets up off of the couch, pulls up and fastens his pants. “Well, thanks, I guess. I wish you guys would have let me finish first. Damn. Look at her, she sure is gorgeous, isn't she? Too bad she's out of commission now. Damn. Well, I guess I'd better put some clothes back on her--" 

"It's only temporary!" De yells out. "Spock only delivered a nerve pinch! She's gonna get back up again to attack!" 

“Hey De, why is there two of you?" Shatner asks. "Leonard, why are you still in make-up? What the hell is going on? Oh I get it, Halloween Party, right?”

“Bill,” Spock says. “Our stages have been taken over by Vampires. We need your help.”

“Vampires are only a myth, Mr. Spock,” Shatner says, smirking. “Hey if you’re gonna stay in character, I can play along.”

“This is not a joke,” Spock says. “I am Spock.”

“You’re not.”

Spock nods. “I am.”

“Lemmie see your ears.” Spock obliges him. Shatner tugs on them hard. Spock patiently puts up with the rigorous inspection. “Holy hell. You really are Spock. Okay then, Mr. Spock. Mind meld with me.”

“This is not a good time,” Spock protests.

“Any time is a good time for a mind meld.”

“Trust me, Mr. Shatner, it isn’t a good time,” McCoy says.

“Why not?” Shatner asks.

“Bill, this is Vampire Spock,” De says pointing. “And this is Vampire Bones.”

“No kidding! Do you guys sleep in coffins?”

“No,” Spock and McCoy say simultaneously.

“How come you don’t want to eat me? Aren’t I tasty?” Shatner looks at De. “Are you Vampire De, or regular De?”

“Regular De.”

“Oh,” Shatner says, downright disappointed.

The blonde woman suddenly rises up. She bares her fangs again, rushes up to Shatner. Shatner grabs the stake away from McCoy, raises it up with a yell then thrusts it through her chest. The blonde shrieks that horrible ghastly sound, then slides off of him, landing on the carpet as a steaming skeleton. Her face is stuck into a wretched expression.

"That was easy," Shatner says.

De brings his hands to his face. "Oh my God! Oh my God!"

Shatner kneels and attempts to pull the stake out of her chest. 

"No! Leave it in!" McCoy says. “It has to stay in!"

"Oh, I didn't know that!" Shatner replies. "Lots of rules here."

"We have more vampires to deal with. Can you help us?”

Shatner reaches over and pulls the stake away from Spock. “You betchya! This is fun.”

“No, Bill, it’s not fun,” De implores him. “This is horrible.”

____________________  
on to the next chapter...


	26. Chapter 26

Soundstage 9 appears to be deserted. The lights are dim. The haunted house/Enterprise sets prove eerily empty.

"Party over? Everybody go home?" Shatner asks.

"It is kind of late," De muses.

"Late?" Shatner says. "It's only eleven o' clock."

Spock's tri-corder whirls. "There are many vampires in the vicinity. And a few humans. Alive. I have no precise figures at this time."

"That a real tri-corder?" Shatner asks.

"Affirmative."

"That's boss!" Shatner replies.

McCoy raises an eyebrow.

"So you're saying, there are humans left alive in here? But for how long?" De wonders. "And where are they?"

"Must be hiding," Shatner says.

"We have to hurry," McCoy tells them. "Stay close." They creep onward.

"Bill." De nudges Shatner. "Hey, Bill, listen."

"Yeah?"

"Spock and Bones can't kill Vampires. Can't kill their own kind."

"They can't? Another vampire rule? Vampires can't kill vampires? No kidding?" Shatner hefts his stake. "That's alright, De. You and I can handle those pesky bastards just fine."

"Speak for yourself," De whispers back.

"Are you sure these two vampires here," Shatner says, indicating McCoy and Spock. "Won't attack you and I?"

"I'm positive, Bill. Positive. Don't worry about them."

"What's the difference between them and the other vampires?"

"Nothing," Spock says.

McCoy gives Spock the stink eye. "Those vampires are evil. We are good vampires."

"Good vampires? There is such a thing?"

"Of course," Spock says.

"Dont' think about it, Bill, your head will explode." De sniffs the air. "What is that awful smell?"

"Blood," McCoy replies. "It's all over the ground. Everywhere."

They walk several steps as a group before De trips over the first body. McCoy kneels down to examine it. "He's dead. Exanguinated."

De kneels down on the other side of the body, next to McCoy. "Oh no! That's Sandy Courage!"

"Who?" McCoy asks.

"Alexander Courage. Composer. He wrote...he wrote...our theme music." De stands up, his mouth contorted in a grimace. Shatner lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Let's keep going," McCoy tells them. "No time for grief." They find several more fresh dead bodies stacked up in the corner. They don't recognize the faces.

"The vampires have been engaged in feeding," Spock says. "In a frenzy."

"They're gonna kill everybody or turn them into fellow vampires," De says, the hysteria rising in his throat. "We can't stop it. We're too late!"

"We must stop this," Spock replies, his voice grave. "If we do not eradicate every last vampire in the STAR TREK stages, they will move on to other shows, then to all of Desilu, then to Hollywood and LA and the Valley, then the State of California, then the United States. They will become an unstoppable force and shall consume all of the inhabitants of Earth."

"No!" De exclaims.

"Let's get crackin' then!" Shatner says. "Kick some evil vampire ass!"

Suddenly, the sound of music breaks the silence. ' _The Monster Mash. It was a graveyard smash!_ '

De jumps. "What the hell is that?"

"It's only party music, De," Shatner tells him. "Calm yourself."

They move through the carnivorous space and enter the Stage 9 production offices, creeping down the hallway.

A figure looms close. De and Shatner tense up, prepare to attack. The figure comes out of the shadows. It’s Eldon Ruberg the sound mixer. His head is split open, blood seeping out of the wound, dripping down his face. He grins from ear to ear. “Lovely party, isn’t it, Gentlemen?”

Shatner lets out a bloodcurdling scream as he holds up his wooden stake, poised to strike. “Ellllddddooooonnnnn!"

Ruberg chuckles. He sidesteps Shatner's downward strike as he hurries away from them.

“Relax, Bill,” McCoy hisses and grabs Shatner's arm to stop him from tearing off after the sound man. “It’s only make-up. Eldon checks out as human.”

“Are you sure?”

"Human," Spock confirms.

They reach the door leading out of Soundstage 9. Spock opens it wide so that the group can pass through. The door closes behind them with a clank. They cross the empty alleyway between the stages, reaching the door to Soundstage 10.

Shatner's got his hand on the door, pulling on the handle when it flies open to reveal Billy Blackburn, one of their regular background talent.

Shatner jumps back, shrieks in fright: "Kill him, De! He's your stand in!"

"I'm not killing him!"

Blackburn's wide eyed and hysterical. He's clutching an 8mm camera in one hand, in the other he holds up his own wooden stake. "Vampires! Prepare to die!" He lunges towards McCoy.

"Wait!" De yells out. "Billy, no! Wait!"

McCoy steps back, avoids Blackburn's attack. Billy drops the camera and stake. He grapples with McCoy before Spock pulls the man off of the doctor.

"It is quite alright, Billy," Spock tells him. "You are safe. We will not attack you."

McCoy's staring at the camera. "What is that thing?"

"Movie camera," Spock supplies.

McCoy wrinkles up his face.

Blackburn stares at each of them, long and hard. He hesitates at Shatner's maniacal grin. He then finally relaxes in Spock's grip. "Leonard? What are you still doing in your Spock make-up? You don't...sleep in that get-up at home, do you?"

"Halloween," Spock replies simply. He releases the man.

Blackburn leans down and picks up his stake and camera. "There are vampires, real honest to God vampires inside stage 10 killing everyone. I managed to get away." He cocks his thumb back towards the now closed door. "It's unbelievable. I saw...I saw...Joe Pevney sucking on...feeding on Nichelle!"

"Oh my God!" De yells.

"Yeah! It's horrible!"

Shatner's grin grows wider. "Sound's kinky."

McCoy opens up the soundstage door, waves them all inside. "Glad you could join us Billy. We now have one more soul who can help us."

Blackburn glances from De to McCoy and back to De. "De, I didn't know you had a twin brother!" He holds up the 8mm camera, points it right at McCoy.

"Cut that out!" the doctor says.

*

Whatever they witnessed in soundstage 9, does not prepare them for the carnage of soundstage 10. The song, ' _The Monster Mash_ ' is much, much louder in here. The ghastly, iron odor of blood is ever pungent.

They stop, just inside the door, surveying the damage.

"Holy shit," De breathes out.

"Holy fuck," Blackburn says.

"Jesus Christ," Shatner says.

"We've got work to do, gentlemen," McCoy says. "Onward." They step over and pick their way past the carnage inside: Pumpkins broken on the concrete studio floor, smashed lights, decorations strewn about, broken tables, broken glass. The dead bodies piling up are too horrible to contemplate. De shakes his head as he surveys the scene. He tries not to retch. It is only a coincidence that tonight is Halloween night. It's all too horribly real.

The music suddenly grows deafening.

' _I was working in the lab, late one night,_  
when my eyes beheld an eerie sight,  
_for my monster from its slab began to rise,_  
_and suddenly to my surprise,_  
_He did the mash,_  
_He did the monster mash,_  
_The monster mash,_  
_It was a graveyard smash,_  
_he did the mash,_  
_he caught on in a flash,_  
_he did the mash,_  
_he did the monster mash,_  
_waaaa woooo, waaa wooo!_  
_waaaaaaaaaaa woooooooooooooooooooooooo!"_

De covers his ears. "I can't stand it!" He looks around, spies the record player on the only undisturbed table. He approaches it with the others in tow. He reaches out his hand towards the record player, hovers it over the spinning vinyl.

"Mr. Kelley! Don't!" McCoy warns from behind him.

But De can't hear the doctor. As he clumsily lifts up the arm, the needle scratches across the record. The sound stops. His ears are ringing. He sets the arm to the side.

It's now silent in the massive soundstage.

Suddenly there's the collective hissing, groaning, nattering, grumbling. The sound of dragging, echoing footsteps on concrete.

De looks up. Their little ragtag group is surrounded by advancing vampires. A bunch of 'em, circling. Many of them they recognize. There's Joe Pevney, Bob Justman, Eddie Milkis, Matt Jefferies, Gerry Finnerman, George Rader, Bill Theiss. All of them vampires. All of them baring their hideous, white, dripping fangs.

"Mr. Kelley," McCoy says. "Put the music back on. Evil vampires like their music. They don't take too kindly to having it shut off!"

"Huh," Shatner says. "Learn something new every day. By the way, this song is by the 'Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band'."

"That's Bobby Pickett," De says. "Everybody knows that!"

"That's Bonzo Dog Band," Shatner insists.

"Bobby Pickett!"

"Bonzo Dog!"

"It is undoubtably by 'Bobby Pickett and the Crypt Kickers'," Spock says. "This is the original version of the song."

"Leonard knows his music," De tells Shatner. "You should see the size of his record collection!"

Shatner smirks at that.

"His records!" De huffs. "Not his--"

"Definately Donzo Dog Band," Shatner says.

"Oh for the love of God, Bill!" De says. "It doesn't even sound like--"

"Who cares who the fuck it is?!" McCoy yells out. "Mr. Kelley, put the music back on. Quickly."

The vampires draw closer. Shatner and Blackburn hold up their stakes. They're outnumbered.

"De, you have a lot of pissed off vampires, put the record back on," Shatner says.

"Mr. Kelley."

"I'm trying!" De's frantically fiddling with the record player, something wrong, it won't play. "I think I broke the needle."

Spock comes to his aid, lifts up the arm to inspect it. "De is correct."

"Damn, are we fucked?" Shatner asks.

"Not if I can help it," Blackburn says.

"Spock, can you fix the music?" McCoy's eyeing the advancing hoard.

Spock is already searching the record player for an alternate needle. "It will take a moment."

"Hurry!" McCoy says. "Why the devil have you guys got such delicate appliances?!"

"It's the late 1960's what do you expect?" Shatner replies.

Spock gives up his search for a record needle. His long fingers fly over the controls of the tri-corder. Suddenly the music comes back on:  
_"He did the mash,_  
_He did the monster mash,_  
_the monster mash,_  
_it was a graveyard smash._ "

"The music doesn't sound as good from that tri-corder," De grumbles in spite of everything. "Too tinny."

The vampires continue to advance.

"I don't think the music will keep them away. They know we've got humans in our midst. They can't help but smell your delectable, juicy, luscious, intoxicating scents." McCoy takes a deep breath. "Hmmm. You do smell so good. But don't worry, I'm not gonna...well, you know...."

The vampires draw even closer.

"They're licking their chops! Rubbing their hands together!" De yells out.

Shatner, Blackburn and De raise up their stakes.

"Let's get 'em," Shatner says.

_________________  
on to next chapter...


	27. Chapter 27

The vampires advance.

Shatner doesn't hesitate, he holds up his wooden stake and slams it down hard into Bob Justman's chest. Justman shrieks, falls to the concrete ground, transforming into a steaming skeleton. Shatner kneels down by the rotted corpse but jerks his head back. "Oh man, that smells like a baby diaper that's been sitting around for three days, combined with a steaming bag of rancid trash, combined with eau de rotten meat--"

"Bill!" Kelley says. "Enough! That's Bob Justman you're talking about."

"It WAS Bob Justman. I only killed a vampire. Not the talented, hardworking associate producer we all knew and loved. Wish I could get that stake back, though. Kinda unarmed now. I feel naked."

"Bill! Look out!" McCoy says. Shatner spins to find Matt Jefferies ready to attack. Jefferies reaches out, fingers curved into a claw, catches Shatner's collar, ripping the man's shirt.

"Ahhhh!" Shatner yells out. "Help!"

Billy Blackburn's got Shatner's back. Camera in his left hand, stake in his right, the background artist slams his stake into the vampires's chest. Matt Jefferies falls to the ground.

Shatner tuts. "Not a very pretty way to go, is it."

Kelley shakes his head at Shatner. "I knew you'd somehow manage to lose your shirt!"

Shatner removes the vestiges of his ripped up shirt, throws the fabric onto the concrete. "It's terrible being so muscular."

"We're running out of wooden stakes," McCoy says. "Mr. Kelley, you're up next! Be ready!"

"I don't know if I can--"

"De, you can do it!" Shatner says. "You're a tough cowboy! Ol' Westerns guy. Too bad we couldn't kill 'em with six shooters. De would already have them all laid out."

"That's just make believe. This is real! These people are our friends!"

"They're no longer your friends. Remember that," McCoy says. "They're vampires. Evil ones."

"They're vampires that I've known for--"

"Here they come," Spock warns.

Jerry Finnerman takes off after Shatner. Shatner runs a few feet, then screams before he yells out: "De! Your stake!" Kelley throws it to him like a football pass. Shatner catches it, turns around and makes swift work of the DP.

"Good thing you once played Varsity!" Shatner calls out to Kelley.

"Oh my God!" Kelley yells out. "Oh my God!"

"Keep it together, Mr. Kelley," McCoy tells the Human. "No sense in getting hysterical."

"I'm not getting hysterical! You try seeing all your friends die!"

Four more vampires enter to replace the ones just disposed of. Three of them they don't recognize, party guests, but one they do: Walter Koenig. "Not Walter, too!" Kelley says.

Walter grins and shows off huge, horrible fangs.

"We're out of stakes, we need to replenish our supply. Should have brought more with us!"

Shatner shrugs. "Oddly enough, none of us thought of that."

"The vampires have us surrounded," Spock reports.

"I could have told you that!" Kelley yells back to him. "How do you propose we get out of here?"

Spock's fiddling with the record player again, leaning over to examine it.

"What the hell are you doing?" McCoy demands.

"I have a theory. I wish to test it."

"Testing a theory? At a time like this? Are you out of your Vulcan mind?" Kelley says.

"Lucky you," Shatner tells Spock. "Getting bitched at from both sides. Like an echo."

"Ah ha," Spock murmurs. He turns on the record player, the platter spins, he sets the arm.

 _ _I was working in the lab late one night_ ,_  
_when my eyes beheld an eerie sight,_  
_For my monster from his slab began to rise_  
_And suddenly to my surprise_

 ___He did the mash___  
_He did the monster mash_  
_The monster mash_  
_It was graveyard smash_  
_He did the mash_  
_It caught on in a flash_  
_He did the mash_  
_He did the monster mash._

"What the hell?" Kelley says.

"Spock fixed the needle!" Shatner says. "How'd you manage that?"

"What's happening?" McCoy says, watching the vampires.

"Fascinating," Spock replies.

The vampires begin to dance to the music in unison. They're no longer attacking.

"Far out!" Shatner says.

Billy Blackburn beings to film the display with his movie camera.

"Don't bother," McCoy tells him. "Vampires won't show up on film."

Blackburn lowers the camera, disappointed.

"The music appears to be soothing the savage beasts!" Kelley says.

"What dance are they doing?" McCoy says.

"The Twist," Kelley tells him.

"Mash potato," Shatner says.

"The Monster Mash, obviously," Spock says.

"There's no such thing," Shatner says.

"The Monster Mash was indeed a dance performed in the late 1960's."

"Maybe for the youngsters," Kelley says as they watch.

"De, you know how to dance!" Shatner says. "Distract them with the Mashed Potato so we can sneak out of here."

"I only know how to Lindy Hop."

"Close enough."

"No it isn't. And I need a partner. They're doing the Twist. I don't suppose anybody else here knows how to Lindy?"

"No," the others say.

"My grandma does," Shatner tells him. "Besides, De. How difficult is it to do the Mashed Potato?"

"It is not at all difficult to do the Monster Mash," Spock says.

"Suppose you demonstrate for us, Mr. Spock," Shatner tells him.

Spock shrugs, steps out a foot in front of them and begins to dance along with the evil vampires.

"Good thing you're a vampire, Spock," Kelley hisses. "Or else they'd be on you like a fly on shit."

"Go!" Spock calls back to them, mid twist. "Before the record comes to an end."

"Aw, you look adorable, Spock!" Shatner tells him.

"It is of no consequence, Bill. Go!"

*

De, Bill Shatner, Dr. McCoy and Billy Blackburn exit the soundstage and head towards the offices. "Let's collect more wooden stakes outside," McCoy commands.

De passes the stage 10 men's room and halts. "Hey guys?"

The other's stop in their tracks. "What, De?"

"I have to...use the john...the toilet."

"Oh, Jesus," Shatner says. "Can't it wait?"

"You damned humans and your bladders," McCoy says.

"Size of a peanut, De," Shatner says.

"Hey, it's been awhile since I went last! I gotta go!"

"Hurry, Mr. Kelley," McCoy says.

"Vampires don't have to pee?" Shatner says.

"No they sure don't."

"I'll just be a minute," De says. "You'll be here when I get out, right?"

McCoy nods at him impatiently.

De enters the tiny restroom, shuts the door behind him. He relieves himself. He zips up and hesitates a moment. "Hell of a time to get a craving." He finds his pack of marlboros in his breast pocket, fishes out a cig.

*

The music's faint but still audible from the hallway:

 _____...Out from his coffin, Drac's voice did ring___  
_Seems he was troubled by just one thing_  
_Opened the lid and shook his fist and said_  
_'Whatever happened to my Transylvania twist?_

____It's now the mash_ ,___  
_It's now the monster mash,_  
_The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash._  
_It's now the mash, it caught on in a flash_  
_It's now the mash, it's now the monster mash._

_____Now everything's cool, Drac's a part of the band___  
_And my monster mash is the hit of the land_  
_for you the living, this mash was meant too,_  
_When you get to my door, tell them Boris sent you._

____Then you can mash, then you can monster mash,____  
_the monster mash_  
_and do my graveyard smash,_  
_then you can mash, you'll catch on in flash_  
_then you can mash, then you can monster mash._

The music stops.

"It's the end of the song," Blackburn says.

"Spock's in trouble," McCoy replies.

*

De exits the men's restroom. “Hey guys, I'm ready--” He spins around. He’s alone, the others have ditched him. “Well, thanks a hell of a lot!”

He inches his way along the hallway, passing various closed doors. He opens one, looks at the couple inside engaged in-- “Oh, sorry.” He shuts the door.

He comes upon Gene Roddenberry’s office. There's the faint sounds of typing inside. What a relief. Gene’s in there, as always, working the night away. Party or no party, the rewrites must go on. Gene's no vampire. A vampire wouldn't be busy working.

De opens the door. The office is empty. He hears a noise, jumps before looking to see what it is. Gene's rock tumbler. Awww. That's comforting. Gene and his rocks. He must be here. Probably in his bathroom. A man's gotta take a break sometime.

There's paper in the typewriter. De can't help himself, out of curiosity, he glances at what’s in the roll: "A Fuzzy Thing Happened to Me", except it's been retitled: ‘The Trouble With Tribbles’. Huh. Cute name. Who thought of that? Gerrold? Where is that kid anyway? Haven't seen him. You'd have thought he'd come to the party. Probably better that he didn't show up--he'd be a vampire by now.

The script must be getting a last minute re-write from Gene. This happens sometimes. Nothing to panic about.

He turns the paper in the typewriter roll and reads the text.

His eyes widen in horror. His breathing increases.

The rest of the pages are strewn on the desk, next to the typewriter. He bends over and begins to read. He’s growing more and more frantic with each page as he paws through them. The lose pages land on the floor.

“How do you like it?!”

De spins around. Gene Roddenberry the producer is standing behind him. A little too close for comfort. “Gene! All of these scribbles! You cut...you cut out all of my scenes...all of my dialogue! There’s nothing left of Dr. McCoy in the entire episode! That scene where I dissect the Tribbles. Gone! I was looking forward to shooting that.”

Gene takes a step towards him. De steps back. “Damn Gerrold kid doesn’t know to type in pica. It’s costing us too much money to produce. We can’t shoot this as is on Monday. I had to do something. It all has to be cut. Sorry. NBC's breathing down my neck. Keep costs down. Keep costs down. Have you talked to Justman lately?"

"But...but....but why ALL of my scenes?”

“You’re the ‘also starring’, De, you’re expendable.” Gene takes another step towards him. “I have NBC breathing down my neck. They’ve cut our budget. Don’t you understand, De? Maybe you should discuss this with your agent if you're not happy.”

“But what about Chekov and Uhura? They had that cute scene with the Tribble. What about Scotty’s ‘No Tribble at all’ speech in the tag? That was cute and funny and a good way to wrap it up!”

“Gone, De.” Gene takes another step towards him. “All gone. I have the suits breathing down my neck, doesn’t it make sense to make cuts?”

“Don’t come any closer, Gene. I'm warning you."

Gene takes another step towards him. “Why not, De?”

“The way you’re looking at me, you want to devour me. You don't care about the show. Not anymore. I held out sincere hope that you weren't a vampire, but they got to you, too. They got to this entire show. Everybody's gone. There's no more show!”

"Nonsense, De. We have a show. We'll be ready to film on Monday, bright and early. Don't you worry about that."

"Stay back."

“Oh...I’m not gonna hurt you, De. Honest.” Gene takes another step towards him.

De backs up until feels the desk hit up against his rear. “I said, stay back, Gene. I'm warning you. I'm not about to become your meal.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you, De. I’m hungry. Need a break from all the rewrites. I’m just going to feed on you a little bit. Get my strength up. That's all. You won’t even feel a thing.” Roddenberry takes another step. “Stay still, De."

De holds up his hands to ward off the producer, but it's hopeless. “Get away.” He puts his hands behind him, scrabble around on Gene's desk, knocking down a potted plant. He finally grabs onto something. Feels like a cross, a-- He pulls it around, looks at it. It's a rosary. A rosary? Huh.

He holds it up at the producer, like they do in the horror movies.

Roddenberry takes a small step back. "Put that down!"

De holds it up higher, it seems to be working, keeping the vampire producer from attacking him. "Get away from me."

Roddenberry's bloodshot eyes grow pleading. “De! Let me feed on you. I'm so hungry. You won’t feel a thing. I promise. Come on, De. Put down that infernal object!"

Roddenberry's bares his fangs as the vampire takes a swipe at the rosary. De keeps it out of reach, holds it higher. He glances up. The door, the only exit, is behind the vampire producer.

If only he can switch them around, he can escape. Just keep holding this weapon. Maybe a prayer might help. He wracks his brain. Maybe a song? Evil vampires like music, right? How about a hymn they used to sing in dad's church so long ago.

" _ _Rock of ages__ ," De begins to sing.

Roddenberry covers his ears.

 _____"Cleft for me.___  
_Let me hide myself in thee,_  
_Let the water and the blood!"_ \--"  
_from thy wounded side which flowed,_

__"__ Shut up!" Roddenberry yells out.

De sings louder:

__" _ _"Be of sin, the double cure_  
_save me from wrath and make me pure."___ _

A hand slips to the junction of Roddenberry's neck and shoulder. The producer slumps to the floor, the victim of a nerve pinch. Spock's suddenly standing there, holding a wooden stake.

"Thought you'd never get here," De whispers.

"Come, De. Quickly."

De shakes his head 'no'. He takes the wooden stake out of the Vulcan's hands. He turns back to the vampire.

___" _Not the labors of my hands_  
_can fulfill thy law's demands"__ _ _

__"__ De," Spock whispers. "De."

De ignores Spock, kneels down next to the vampire producer. He keeps on singing:

 ___"_ _Could my zeal no respite know___  
_could my tears forever flow_  
_all for sin could not atone_  
_thou must save, and thou alone."_

Spock begins to sing along with him:

____"Nothing in my hand I bring,_  
_simply to the cross I cling."__ _ _

De raises up the stake, then thrusts it deep into Roddenberry's chest _ _._ _

___"_ _Naked, come to thee for dress___  
_helpless, look to thee for grace_  
_foul, I to the fountain fly_  
_wash me, Savior, or I die."_

They continue singing louder, over the screeches, the inhuman cries:

 ___" _While I draw this fleeting breath____  
_when mine eyes shall close in death_  
_when I soar to worlds unknown_  
_see thee on thy judgement throne_  
_Rock of ages, cleft for me_  
_let me hide myself in thee."_

The song finished, De sits down in a stupor next to the steaming, now silent, skeleton.

He feels hands, Spock's hands, sliding around his waist, lifting him up.

_________________  
on to next chapter...


	28. Chapter 28

They bury the bodies of the vampires and the victims at the corner of Bronson and Melrose Avenue, in the grounds near the circular driveway with the waterfall in front of the main Desilu gate, the 'Bronson Gate' as it's called. The 'Hollywood' sign is visible in the hills beyond. 

It had taken an hour for all of them to complete the downright gruesome task of gathering all of the remains together, dragging the exsanguinated Humans and the vampire skeletons still with the wooden stakes embedded deep within their chests across the Desilu lot, throwing the corpses into the burial pit-- Kelley gritting his teeth during the ordeal. 

Spock had managed to corral some workmen's overalls and custodial gloves for the Humans assisting them to wear and now the task is finished, the Humans busy themselves by silently removing those gloves and coveralls and placing them into an adjacent trash can, one by one. 

"Amazing that we can accomplish this without security hassling us," Blackburn remarks.

"They are most likely imbibing in alcohol over at the corner bar," Spock tells him.

The survivors of the Star Trek stages stand solemnly around the edges of the freshly dug graves, joining Spock and McCoy: DeForest Kelley, William Shatner, Billy Blackburn, Jimmy Doohan, George Takei--who didn't really help much with the body collection but mostly stood there watching and chuckling, Eldon Ruberg--still wearing his horrific Halloween make-up, Dorothy Fontana and Fred Phillips. 

Jimmy Doohan seems to have suddenly produced a set of bagpipes out of nowhere. He gets into position and plays 'Amazing Grace'. 

Bill Shatner elbows Spock. "Who knew Jimmy could play?"

Spock shrugs. 

"Where'd he get the pipes from? That's what I want at my funeral. Bagpipes."

"Shhhh," Kelley hisses at Shatner in between gut wrenching sobs. 

Shatner manages to quiet down for the remainder of the song. They wait until Spock throws dirt onto the graves and sets down the shovel.

"Anybody gonna say a few words?" Kelley says. "Alright fine. I will. I will miss these people, every day. Great people, wonderful friends, great crew and marvelous fellow cast members. We salute you. I love you... all...." Kelley's voice breaks. 

There's a heavy blanket of silence for several moments.

Kelley sniffles, wipes his tears on his sleeve before he lights up a cigarette, sucking in the smoke as if his life depends upon it. 

"Can I bum a smoke off of you, De?" Jimmy Doohan asks. 

"Yeah." Kelley hands one over, lights it for him.

"Hey, Bones? Quick question," Shatner says to McCoy.

"Yes, Bill?"

"Why here? At the corner of Bronson and Melrose? Seems like a bizarre burial ground--is this even legal? Why not some place like Forest Lawn?"

"Vampires and their victims must be buried at a crossroads, the vampires with the stakes embedded through their hearts, so that they do not rise to walk the earth again."

"No kidding? But even if they were vampires, they’re good techs and cameramen and electricians and producers and directors and props guys and sound men,” Shatner protests. "We should just take the stakes out of their chests and let them keep doing the show. I'm sure we could work something out with the county about feeding them. Might be cheaper than crafty."

“You do not want malevolent vampires as crew,” Spock tells Shatner.

“Well at least they wouldn't eat up all the donuts,” Shatner says. “But I see what you mean. It is kinda dangerous, I suppose."

"My God, Bill!" Kelley sobs out. "Must you be so horrible?! These are people we're talking about! It's not a joke!"

"Calm down, Mr. Kelley," McCoy says. 

"You!" Kelley seethes, pointing at McCoy. "You did this! It's all your fault! You brought this on all of us, you son of a bitch! You took everybody away from us!"

McCoy bristles and finds himself wanting to fight Kelley as much as Kelley wants to fight him. He feels Spock's hands holding him by the arms.

"Leonard," Spock tells him.

Dorothy Fontana holds onto Kelley, pats him on the back. "De, De, stop it! It's alright."

"This guy..." Kelley says. "Is something else. Unbelievable."

"I know," Dorothy says. "Troublemaker." She glares at McCoy.

After several tense seconds both McCoy and Kelley manage to calm down. Spock and Dorothy release them.

"I didn't cause this," McCoy explains to the actor who looks just like him, who's now glaring blue eyed daggers at him and probably wishes the doctor was thrown into the pit, too. "The vampires who started this were already here, just lying in wait to wreak havoc."

"If you say so," Kelley says. "When are you gonna get the hell on outta here and beam up to your ship? Along with Mr. Spock that you stole from us? He was ours!"

"De," Spock says.

"Oh my," George suddenly says with another chuckle. "What a coincidence all of this happening on Halloween night!"

Spock's tri-corder whirls. "There is one more vampire in the vicinity."

"Oh my!" George says again. 

"How close?" Shatner asks.

"Immediate vicinity."

"But does... that contraption give you a more precise reading? Such as, there's one ten feet away or just--"

"One of us is a vampire!" Dororthy Fontana says. 

"Are you sure it's not just picking up you and Bones?" Shatner says.

"Negative, this tri-corder is calibrated to detect evil vampires only," Spock replies.

"And you're the good ones."

"Affirmative."

"That doesn't make any damned sense," Shatner says with a huff. "That thing has gotta be wrong. Nobody here is an evil vampire, we got them all. Didn't we?"

"Apparently not, Bill," Spock replies in a bemused tone of voice. 

Everybody in the group squints at each other. 

"Is the vampire from another show?" Kelley wonders.

Dorothy Fontana inches over to a nearby wooden fence, yanking out a stake. "Alright, everybody. Open up your mouths for inspection. Let's get a good look at those teeth. See if anybody's hiding fangs."

She moves around the circle, first looking at Kelley's teeth very closely. 

"De's a vampire? I knew it!" Shatner says. 

"De's fine. He's human," Dorothy replies. "Not a fang in his gentlemanly mouth."

"Huh," Shatner says. "You sure about that?" 

Kelley closes his mouth and arches his eyebrow at Shatner. 

Dorothy moves on to Jimmy Doohan. "Evil vampires do like their music," she says.

"Vampires like 'Amazing Grace'?" Doohan replies. 

"They like anything. The louder the better. They have eclectic tastes."

"Oh."

"Open up, Jimmy."

With wide dark eyes, clutching his bagpipes in one hand and his cigarette in the other, Jimmy Doohan obediently opens his mouth for the script editor. Dorothy squints as she peers inside. 

"Jimmy's a vampire?" Shatner asks. "I knew it! Who plays the bagpipes? Vampires, that's who!"

"Jimmy's fine, he's human," Dorothy replies.

"Of course he's human," McCoy mutters. "Vampires don't smoke."

Dorothy moves on to Fred Phillips. 

"My teeth are crooked," Phillips tells her, blushing. "I'm a make-up man, not a television star."

"Freddy's a vampire?" Shatner says. "I knew it!"

"Freddy checks out, too. He's human," Dorothy says. She moves on to Billy Blackburn, he opens his mouth before she even asks. "Billy's human, too." Blackburn seems to sag with relief at that. 

Dorothy moves on to Shatner. "Bill."

"Yes?"

"Your turn. Let me see your sparkly white teeth."

"No way. I'm not a horse."

"You're not a smoker either, are you."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Bill."

"Yes?"

"See this wooden stake in my hands?"

"I do."

"I'm going to quite happily slam it deep into your chest if you don't comply."

"Yeah, but I'm not a vampire."

"Says you."

"Come on, Baby." Shatner holds up his hands. "Don't be a drag."

"Bill. Open your mouth."

"Dorothy, please. I'm not a vampire. I'm not showing you my teeth. That's final." Shatner folds his arms in defiance, turns his face away. 

Dorothy shrugs and raises up her stake, prepares to strike. 

"Wait a minute," Blackburn says. He stands next to Dorothy and aims his 8mm camera at Bill Shatner. "Like Bones said, vampires don't show up on film." He glances through the viewfinder. "Hmmm." 

Everybody waits with baited breath. "Well?"

"He's human," Blackburn confirms. "You don't have to kill him, Dorothy, not unless you want to."

"Oh that's charming, Billy!" Shatner says. 

Somebody, McCoy isn't sure which, bumps into BIlly Blackburn's arm. The background artiste loses his grip on his camera, then drops it. "Oh shit!" It lands hard on the pavement. There's the sound of glass breaking. Billy picks up the camera, looks into the viewfinder, tries to operate it. He pulls it away from his face. "It's....broken."

"Broken?" Kelley says. "That's funny, movie cameras are built like tanks. Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," Blackburn says with a sad face.

"I'm sorry, Billy."

Billy shrugs at Kelley.

"Well, at least you cleared all of us," Shatner says.

"No," McCoy replies. "Not all of you. There's still Eldon, Dorothy and George!"

"Somebody check my teeth," Dorothy offers. "Hurry!" 

"I'll do it," McCoy says. He looks into Dorothy's mouth. "She's Human!"

Everybody cheers. 

"Now for Eldon and George."

Quick as a flash, George takes off running.

"After him, he's a vampire!" Spock and Dorothy tear off after Takei. 

George suddenly changes direction, runs back to the crowd. He spins around, darts back and suddenly gets behind Eldon and seizes him. "Nobody move!" George clamps his arms around his hostage. "Stay back!"

"George, no!" They run up to him and the sound man. "Let go of Eldon! It's hopeless!"

"Never," George says. "You should have let me escape. Now, I will turn all of you into my latest meal." George gives out a creepy chuckle. "Mwa, ha ha ha." 

"Wow," Shatner says. "George sounds like Mirror Universe Sulu!"

"I'm not playing a character... this time," George tells the assembled. 

Takei opens his mouth so ungodly wide, exposing long, horrific, exquisite, dripping, gleaming white fangs. 

_______________________

on to next chapter....


	29. Chapter 29

"George. You have a multi-legged creature resting on your shoulder. Here, let me help you." Spock points one way. George turns his head to look. Spock reaches, fingers quickly find the correct spot. George slumps to the ground. 

Eldon moves away from the fallen vampire. "Whew! I thought I was a gonner. Thanks guys!" 

The others crowd around the body. After a moment, Shatner nudges him with his foot. "George?"

"Don't do that. He'll be down for several minutes," McCoy says. "Anytime you're ready Dorothy."

"I keep forgetting that nerve pinch is now the real deal," Shatner replies. 

"What do you mean it's the real deal?" Fred Phillips asks. "Leonard?" He stares at Spock as if noticing him for the first time. "What are you doing still wearing your appliances? You're gonna hurt your skin."

"I am Spock," the Vulcan tells him. "The ears are real."

"How? That can't be possible. You can't keep wearing those."

"They're real," Shatner says. "Spock's serious, Freddy."

"Always joking, always joking, you guys," Freddy says with a tremor in his voice. He feels for his cigarettes, pulls out the empty pack. "Damn. Can I bum a smoke off ya, De?"

Kelley's already lighting one for the man. "Sure."

Freddy takes a long drag, holding the cigarette with shaky hands. 

Dorothy comes close, raises up the stake, ready to shove the sharpened wood deep into George Takei's chest. 

Spock glances down at his tri-corder and holds up a hand. "Wait a moment."

"What?"

The Vulcan kneels down at George's side. He reaches into the man's mouth and with a snap he removes then pulls out the fangs. He holds them up. There's a collective gasp as everybody stares at the teeth in Spock's hand. 

"Fake?" McCoy asks. "Why would a vampire need to wear fake fangs?"

"Costume. George Takei is no vampire. He is Human." 

"But he acted just like one. A real one," Dorothy says.

"He must have just been fucking around," Shatner says. "For Halloween."

"So there are no more evil vampires after all?" Kelley asks.

"A malevolent vampire is still registering on the tri-corder," McCoy replies. 

"Affirmative." Spock looks over at Eldon Ruberg. "There is one remaining vampire, indeed. Eldon."

"What, this?" Eldon points at his split skull and the blood on his face and head. "No. This is make-up, prosthetics. Not real. Freddy put it on for me. Didn't you Freddy?"

"Yeah that's right, Eldon. Guys, he's no vampire!" Freddy insists. "I applied that make-up on him, myself!"

"I Got this done for the Halloween party, that's all!" Eldon says, still backing up. "That's all it is!" 

Spock creeps closer to Ruberg. "Eldon."

"That tri-corder thing you have in your hands, that's not real. Just a prop. That's all it is! That's all. I'm not a vampire, honest!" 

"Eldon."

"Don't kill me. Please! PLEASE!"

"Eldon," Spock says. 

"Take me with you, it's not fair, why do you get to stay a vampire and I don't? It's not fair. Please. Take me with you." 

"Eldon," McCoy says.

Dorothy raises up her stake. "Sorry Eldon. But you have to die."

"It's not fair! I've listened to your voices, De, Bill, Billy, Leonard, Jimmy on the cans for two years, worked the mixing desk, made you sound so good and look at all I've done for you and you want to kill me? Why? Please, don't kill me."

"Eldon," McCoy says again.

"Please. I won't suck anybody anymore. Honest. No more blood. No more humans. I promise."

"Eldon," Billy says.

"Eldon," Jimmy says.

"Please! I don't deserve to die. I've won awards, best sound mixing. Won an Emmy. You've seen the award, haven't you, De."

"I have," De replies. "Sure is heavy."

"You can't kill an Emmy winner, can you? It isn't fair. Why are all of you looking at me like that? It isn't fair. Why do Spock and Bones get to live and not me? It isn't fair. Don't kill me. Please don't kill me. PLEASE! Freddy, tell 'em!"

"Guys, I think you're making a big mistake! He's no vampire!" Freddy says. 

With a yell, Dorothy slams the stake into Eldon's chest. Still whimpering and begging, Eldon shudders, convulses and transforms into the telltale dripping, oozing, shrieking skeleton. The corpse drops to the ground. Then there's silence. 

Kelley leans over. "Oh."

Shatner pats Kelley on the shoulder. "I know. He made us sound so good, De."

"Dear God," Freddy says. "Has this place gone insane?"

"I can't believe ol' Eldon was a vampire all this time," Jimmy says with disgust.

Kelley stands back upright. "It sure has gone insane, Freddy. That's it. I want to go home. If we're done here, murdering half of Desilu Studios. I have a half a mind to turn myself into the police."

"It isn't murder," McCoy says. "Eldon's undead. He died when he got turned. Whenever it was, could have been hours, could have been years, centuries ago."

"Hey...what? What happened?" They all look down at the frightened voice.

"George is coming around." McCoy kneels down next to george and helps him sit up. "Take it easy. That's it. You're recovering from a Vulcan Nerve Pinch."

"Vulcan Nerve Pinch? That isn't real."

"I'm afraid it is, George," Kelley tells him. 

"Do you realize you almost got yourself killed?" McCoy says to George.

"What do you mean, I thought this was all a game, a practical joke for Halloween? You know, we're always joking around, right?"

"It was no game," Spock says. 

"You mean...this was real?!" George's eyes are like saucers. "There's really vampires at Desilu?"

"I am afraid so." Kelley, Shatner, Dorothy and Billy and Jimmy nod at him.

"Oh," George says. "My." McCoy helps the man stand up. "My neck. My head," George complains. 

"Yeah. It hurts. Spock does it a little hard. Feels like your head was ripped off, doesn't it." 

Spock shrugs. He takes another reading on his tri-corder. “That appears to be the last of the malevolent vampires,” he confirms.

“Except for you two,” Shatner says to Spock and McCoy. “Explain why Dorothy shouldn’t kill you both?”

“We’re not gonna attack you, Bill."

“Why not? What makes you so different?"

“Leonard and I are bondmates,” Spock attempts to explain to the human, “we draw our strength to resist evil from each other.”

" _What_ mates?" Freddy asks. 

"I think that means married," Jimmy Doohan says.

"To each other?"

“What a bunch of bullshit," Shatner says. "You two aren’t married in the show.”

“Well, we are in real life!” McCoy huffs. “We’re not gonna attack you, alright?”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Very,” McCoy says. “But feeding will have to wait. We’ll feed on stored plasma back on the ship. Most likely.”

“Oh, I bet that’s tasty. I bet you’d prefer a live, warm human to feast on.”

“Do not tempt us,” Spock says, flashing his fangs for a brief second. That manages to quiet down the human. 

Dorothy breaks out into giggles at that. She wipes her hands together. "Well if that's all of those evil bastards, I'm going home! It's late." She heads off back towards the offices. 

"Hey wait!" Freddy calls out. "I'm coming with you, Baby!"

"Me too," Jimmy Doohan says. "See ya later guys."

"Dorothy," Kelley yells. "Don't forget to wash your hands!"

She waves back.

They watch the three disappear in the distance. 

"So now what?" Shatner asks. 

Spock leans over, unceremoniously gathers up the rotted corpse, walks it over to the pit and drops it into the hole. 

"We say 'goodbye' to you," McCoy tells Shatner.

Shatner claps his hands. “Oh boy, we get to beam up to the Enterprise!”

“We? No, not we. Spock and I."

“Oh, come on! I want to see the ship!”

“Believe me, Bill,” Kelley tells him. “The real Enterprise is not that fantastic. Looks exactly like our sets.”

“Wait a minute, De,” Shatner says. “You got to beam up to the Enterprise and I don’t? That’s not fair. We have a favored nations clause in our contracts, you can’t get to go up to the ship and I don’t.”

“I’m a doctor, not a tour guide,” McCoy grumbles.

“No, no, no. Y’See Leonard has his fancy office, his fancy secretary, his fancy bicycle, his fancy telephone installed in his dressing room and now De got to beam up to the ship? I’m the star of the show."

"You have a secretary, Spock?" McCoy calls out to the Vulcan.

"Of course."

Shatner hops up and down. "I should be able to beam up to the Enterprise!”

“Fine!” McCoy gives Spock a glance as the Vulcan returns to his side. “You can beam aboard the Enterprise.”

“Oh good!”

Spock flips open his communicator. “Spock to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise.” There is only static. 

Spock closes it. “There should no longer be any more interference from malevolent Vampires. This is downright illogical. All of the vampires but us should have been eradicated.” 

McCoy grabs his arm. “No...you're forgetting the Sherman Oaks Galleria.”

Spock's mouth moves into an oval for a second in a rare display of emotion. "The Sherman Oaks Galleria? What about it?"

"Don't you remember?"

"Negative. Please elucidate."

"It's where you--it's where you died," McCoy tells him. "Where Spock died."

"Spock died at the Galleria?" Spock replies.

"The three of us did. You, Jim, myself."

"At the Sherman Oaks Galleria?" Shatner asks. 

"Exactly."

"The Sherman Oaks Galleria is a dead mall," Shatner says. "Been boarded up for years."

"Since the fifties," Kelley says.

"But what better a place to hide a coven of malevolent vampires," McCoy replies. 

"No kidding?" Shatner says. 

"Sounds creepy," Billy Blackburn says. 

"So, Spock and I will say goodbye to you all. He and I have some unfinished business to take care of," McCoy says.

"Wait a minute, how are you gonna kill them? You can't kill your own kind," Shatner replies. "You need our help. Me and Billy and De. You need us too. You really need Dorothy too, but she took off on us already. Maybe somebody should grab her before she tears off out of here."

"Wait a minute," Kelley says. "Wait a just a damned moment, Bill. I'm not going to the Galleria."

"Come on, De. You live just around the corner."

"That doesn't mean I want to go sniffing around the abandoned Galleria! I have a wife at home!"

"What's the matter, De, are you scared?"

"No. I'm absolutely terrified!" Kelley says. "I can't get involved!"

"De, you're already involved."

McCoy glares at Shatner. "Bill, If Mr. Kelley wishes to back out, now. He is more than welcome to do so. The three of us can handle it."

"Me too," Billy Blackburn says. "I'm coming, too."

"Four of us are plenty," McCoy says. "Mr. Kelley, go home to your wife."

"I'm coming, too," George says. 

"The five of us," McCoy says. "Even better."

The group begins the hike back to the soundstage parking lot facing Gower Street. "De is such a pussy," Shatner remarks as they walk. 

"I don't care," Kelley says. "Better a pussy, staying alive."

"Stop insulting Mr. Kelley, Bill," McCoy replies. "Killing vampires isn't for everyone."

"No need to defend me," Kelley huffs back. "I can handle what Bill dishes out." 

They finally reach the parking lot where their cars are located. They stare at the cars. Shatner's corvette, Nimoy's Riv, Kelley's Thunderbird, Billy's Volkswagen Beetle, Takei's Corvair. "What are we going to do now?" Shatner asks. 

"What do you mean?" Spock replies. 

"Spock, do you still have the ability to drive? We're gonna have to take your land yacht. It's the only behemoth that will fit all five of us inside." 

Spock thinks for a moment. "Fascinating."

"What?" Kelley says. 

"I cannot remember how to drive a car."

"Bullshit," Kelley retorts. "How hard is driving a motor vehicle? McCoy managed to do it. He stole my damned Thunderbird! Speaking of that. Where's my keys?" 

McCoy digs into his pocket, tosses them over to Kelley. "Here."

"You didn't get any scratches on it, any dents, any dings. Did ya?"

"No," McCoy replies in an exasperated voice. "I took good care of it."

"I'll drive your Riv, Spock," Shatner offers. 

Spock narrows his eyes at the Human. 

"What, Spock?"

"I am not enamored of your driving."

"Oh for fuck's sake. We're desperate. We can't take my car. It's a two seater. We can't take Billy's, we can't take George's and De's wimped out. We have to take yours!"

"Want me to drive, Spock?" McCoy asks the Vulcan. 

"Better you than Bill." 

"That's settled then." McCoy claps his hands together. "We need wooden stakes. Gather 'em up! Throw 'em in Spock's car." 

With his key, and with a reluctant look on his face, Spock pops open his trunk for them. They pull off some wood from the nearby fence then throw them in. 

"God, this trunk is huge. Could stick quite a few dead bodies in here," Shatner muses.

"We just may have to," McCoy says. 

"That enough stakes, Bones?" 

"Need some more, just in case."

"How many vampires are we talking about?" Shatner asks. 

"Now that I don't know," McCoy tells him.

"So we could be walking into an ambush."

McCoy doesn't answer that. 

Suddenly a blustery, cold wind blows through the parking lot. "Burrr," Shatner says, rubbing his bare arms. "Time for me to put on a shirt."

"It's about time," Kelley shoots back. "Thought I saw your nipples getting hard."

"What are you doing looking at my manly, muscular chest, De? Jealous?"

"Only if I want to look like a plucked chicken."

"Hey, the women love it shaved and smooth like this."

"Says you." 

They throw several more stakes into the Riv's trunk. "That enough, Bones?" 

"Yeah, should be." As Spock closes the trunk, McCoy turns to Kelley. "We'll leave you at this point. You've been a great help. But...goodbye."

"Sure you don't want to come along, De?" Shatner says.

"I'm sure. You go get those vampires. Good luck."

McCoy shakes Kelley's hand. "Thanks."

 

_______________________

on to the next chapter...


	30. Chapter 30

"Bye De!" Bill Shatner, Jimmy Doohan (who'd decided to rejoin them), Billy Blackburn and George Takei call out from the backseat of the Riv, through the open window. 

De waves back. "So long, guys! Be safe!"

"Sure you don't want to come along, Mr. Kelley?" McCoy asks from the driver's seat. "Now that I think about it, we could use your help."

"I really need to get home. To my wife. She's probably worried about me. Not probably, I know she is. It's late." 

"Alright, Mr. Kelley." 

"Doctor, are you certain that you know how to operate a motor vehicle?"

"Relax, Spock." McCoy puts the transmission into drive. "I'm not about to break your goddamned mid 20th century Buick Rivera." The doctor flashes an exasperated smile at De.

"You should let me drive, Bones!" Shatner calls out.

"Negative," Spock replies from the front passenger seat. 

De chuckles as the large black Buick pulls out of the parking spot. It reaches the edge of the parking lot and just as the car turns the corner onto Gower Street, there's an explosion. 

"What was that?" De breaks into a sprint. 

*

McCoy stomps on the brake. The Riv lurches as it comes to a halt. "What the hell was that?"

"Sounds like your tire, Spock," Shatner says. "Your sweetheart must have ran over a nail."

"I didn't run over a nail!" McCoy snaps.

"That doesn't sound like a tire going flat," George Takei says. "Sounds like an explosion!" 

"Wait here." McCoy, with a barely audible grumble gets out of the car. The Riv is now leaning over to one side. He checks the front left tire. Flat as a pancake. "Son of a bitch." 

Spock exits the car and comes over to stand next to McCoy. "I believe I told you to be careful with my car."

"Wasn't my fault, Spock!" 

"Let me outta here!" Shatner elbows his way out of the back seat then joins Spock and McCoy. "Oh, fuck. What a bummer. Well. No problem. I'll be happy to change that pesky tire for you."

"Thank you, Bill," Spock says. 

"You'll have to hold the flashlight, though. Us feeble humans can't see so well in the dark." Shatner walks to the rear but pauses at the open window. "Billy or George or Jimmy, one of ya. Pop the trunk for me." Billy nods, climbs over the seat. Hits the switch. The trunk flies open and Shatner rifles around in it. "Spock?" he calls out. "Would you come here for a second?"

"What is it?" Spock joins Shatner. 

"You've got a large enough trunk to fit several dead bodies in here, plus the entire contents of your dressing room AND your fancy bicycle with your name on it, but you didn't think to put in a tire iron, a jack or even a spare tire. What the hell, guy? Weren't you ever a boy scout?"

Spock raises his left eyebrow. "I have a spare. And a tire iron. And a jack. The items are right--" Spock halts. "Fascinating. They are gone."

"You mean you did have them at one time? But you don't now." 

Kelley comes jogging up. "What the hell happened!"

"Bones ran over a nail." 

"Oh. Nice going, Doc!"

"I did not run over a nail!" McCoy sputters. "Besides, why in the hell do you guys build your tires so damned vulnerable in the first place?"

"So that we keep on buying them," Kelley says. "Tire company's gotta make money somehow! I bet they're not Goodyears!"

"Wait a minute." Shatner holds up a finger. "Exploded tire. Missing spare. No jack. No tire iron. Could this be...sabotage? The work of the vampires? So that we can't escape....Desilu?" 

"Sabo-what?" McCoy asks.

"Sabotage."

"Why are you saying 'sabotage' so strangely?"

"What are you talking about?" Shatner replies. "I'm not saying 'sabotage' strangely."

"Yes, you are."

"He's Canadian!" Doohan calls out from the back seat. 

"Oh," McCoy says. "I see."

"What does being Canadian have to do with anything? Hey, De, say 'Nuclear'!" Shatner says, indignantly. "You know how many takes we went through laughing our asses off because you can't say it correctly? Huh? Huh?"

"What? Nu-clear."

"See?"

"De, do you possess a spare tire, jack and tire iron?" Spock asks.

"Yeah, but my spare's not gonna fit on this thing. I got Goodyear's on my 'Bird."

"I see," Spock says. 

"Fuck," Shatner says. 

"Why don't we just walk to the Galleria?" McCoy suggests.

"Walk?" Shatner says before breaking out into giggles. "In LA?"

"Nobody walks in LA," Spock informs McCoy.

"Hey, try Autoclub!" Jimmy Doohan calls out. "They'll have a spare tire."

"Autoclub!" Shatner says. "Brilliant!"

"What the hell is 'Autoclub'?" McCoy demands.

"AAA," Kelley replies. 

"I still don't know what the hell that is."

"Automobile Association of America," Spock informs him. "They will change a flat, fetch gas, perform basic emergency services, give you a tow to a garage. Whatever you require."

"Great! Then let's call 'em up."

"Who's gonna call 'em?" Shatner says.

There's a long pause while everyone looks at each other. Kelley sighs. "Guess I'm the one hiking back to the dressing rooms. Hey, Spock? I need your membership card."

"I am not a member," Spock replies.

"Of what?" McCoy asks.

"The Autoclub."

"You have to be a member to get roadside assistance?" McCoy demands.

"Affirmative," Spock replies. "De, I presume that you are a member. We shall borrow your card."

"I'm not a member, Spock. I didn't renew it this year. I'm trying to cut back on expenses. Just paid my SAG dues. Bought that garage door and--"

"You're kidding," Shatner says, tutting. "You let your AAA membership go. Well, that wasn't very smart, was it, De!"

"Jimmy," Spock asks Doohan. "Are you a member of the Autoclub?"

"Sorry, Leonard--I mean, Spock. I'm not."

"George?"

"Uh...no."

"Billy?"

"No. Sorry, Spock."

"Bill?"

"Nope. I couldn't be bothered." Shatner folds his arms. "Looks like we are fucked."

McCoy stares at the others for a beat. "Autoclub won't come out at all? Not even if Bill pays them a bribe?"

"Huh?" Shatner says. "I'm not paying AAA a bribe!"

"Precisely," Spock says. "Nothing will make the Autoclub assist us if none of us is a member."

"But...nobody here has a card? Nobody at all?"

"Apparently not, Doctor."

"Anybody's wives a member?" McCoy asks. "Girlfriends? Boyfriends?" Everyone shakes their heads 'no'.

"I meant to buy my wife a membership last Christmas, but she wanted perfume instead," Kelley says.

"Couldn't somebody go sign up? Right now? While we wait?" McCoy asks.

"Now? The AAA office is closed," Kelley replies.

"On the computer, can't one of you sign up real quick, get a interim membership card? Print out the number?"

"A what?" The humans ask. "Do what?"

"This is the 60's," Spock explains. "Computers are not in general usage by the public. It takes several weeks to receive a membership card in the mail."

"How terribly inefficient." McCoy itches the back of his head. "So now what?" 

"We shall push my car back to my parking space," Spock commands. "Perhaps one of the remaining security guards can assist us."

McCoy sighs and flips open his communicator. "I've had it with the late 1960's. McCoy to Enterprise." There is only static. "Goddammit!"

*

The Riv finally rolls into Nimoy's parking space. Shatner, Billy, Jimmy, George and Kelley lean over, huffing and puffing. Shatner grumbles: "Spock, you sure didn't help much with the pushing."

"I helped. I steered. We were hindered by the flat tire."

"Why'd you have to buy this goddamned boat, anyway?"

"Whew!" Kelley wipes the sweat off his brow. He lights up a cigarette. 

"De, can I bum a smoke off of you?" Doohan asks.

"Yeah." Kelley hands one over.

Shatner reaches over and lightly punches Kelley in the stomach. "So. DeForest. You're our last hope."

"For what?"

"You know. Don't play dumb. I didn't see any security men. Desilu is deserted. We're gonna have to press that fancy Thunderbird of yours into service."

Kelley takes a long drag on his cigarette then blows out a smoke ring. "I reckon, that maybe I have a flat, too. Due to 'sabotage'." He says the word exactly like Shatner did. Doohan, George Takei and BIlly Blackburn chuckle. "You know goddamned well I'm carting our asses over to the Galleria whether I want to or not."

"You will? Oh, thank you, thank you, De!" Shatner leans over and kisses Kelley on the mouth. "You're the best friend anybody could have, right Jimmy?"

Doohan nods. "Sure is!"

"Course it'll be a much tighter fit, all seven of us, in your fancy Thunderbird," Shatner says. "Tighter than a virginal nun."

McCoy shakes his head. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

"Wait, I almost forgot," Shatner says. "I need to feed my dog."

McCoy closes his eyes for a long moment. "Your dog?"

"Yeah." Shatner puts his fingers into his mouth, does a wolf whistle. Seconds later, a huge dog, a Doberman Pincher appears by his side. "Hi, Honey! You been a busy doggie?"

"Where'd that thing come from?" McCoy wonders. 

"Hi, Dunhill!" Kelley says. He gives the Doberman a scratch behind the ears. 

"You had a Doberman running loose around Desilu?" McCoy asks. "All this time?"

"Yeah. Everybody knows he's mine."

"Your dog could have assisted us in rounding up vampires," McCoy tells him. 

"No way! I don't want those nasty vampires anywhere near my baby!" Shatner leans over for doggie kisses. "Do I? No. No, I don't. Mmmmm. This is my sweet, darling little baby. I love you." Shatner straightens up then walks towards his trailer, his dog along side of him. "Five minutes," he calls back. "Give me five measely minutes!" 

"Put a shirt on while you're in your dressing room," McCoy calls back.  


"Sure thing!"

Suddenly Kelley begins walking after Shatner.

"Where in the hell do you think you're going, Mr. Kelley?"

"If Bill's going to the dressing rooms, I'm going to mine, I have to pee! If I have to attack any vampires, I want to do it with a empty bladder!"

"Great," McCoy mutters. "Mr. Kelley has to pee, what a surprise."

______________

on to the next chapter...


	31. Chapter 31

The Thunderbird coasts down Beverly Glen Boulevard. De grips his hands tightly around the steering wheel, holding at ten and two. His Hands are starting to hurt so he relaxes them. Palms are sweaty. He keeps the right on the wheel as he wipes his left hand on his pants then rubs his face.

He puts his hand back on the steering wheel, tapping it with a finger. The terror of what they are about to do is building in his gut. It's too damned quiet in here. Could hear a pin drop. Wish he could put the car radio on. Listen to some Stan Kenton, that would liven things up a bit. No goddamned Halloween music, that's for sure. Maybe the news. KFWB, news '67. Find out what the weather will be like tomorrow. Yeah. That would be nice. Wonder if it's gonna rain.

It's dark, even when they get out of the canyons. Street lights are out. He clicks to pedal to turn on his brights. 

He sneaks a glance over at Spock next to him, facing forward, sitting very Vulcan-like in the front passenger seat. The rest of their rag tag bunch: Bones, Bill Shatner, Jimmy Doohan, George Takei and Billy Blackburn are all crammed into the back seat. He looks through the rear view mirror, catches a glimpse of McCoy watching him. "Comfy back there?"

"Oh, very!" Shatner pipes up. "I just love being squeezed in like a sardine. Especially when De takes the scenic route to the Valley. "

"Hey, Leonard's Riv had more room," De shoots back. "Not my fault it got a flat. You wanted to get to the Galleria, this is the only car available. Beggars can't be choosy."

"You might want to get the lead out, Grandpa," Shatner says. "I do want to get to the Galleria tonight."

"I am goin' the speed limit, 35 miles per hour. Nothing over that. Don't want to get pulled over."

"You're not gonna get pulled over, De, not if you're only going ten miles over."

"The hell I won't," De says. "The minute I break a law, they'll be a cop tailin' my ass. Is that what you want?"

"Let Mr. Kelley obey the speed laws," McCoy says to Shatner. "Though it would be nice if there were some goddamned seat belts back here."

"What for?" Shatner asks. 

"Never mind."

"Hey, Jimmy?"

"Yeah, De?"

"You wouldn't happen to have a crucifix on you or anything would ya? Or maybe a rosary."

"A what?" Jimmy Doohan replies. "Oh. No. I don't usually keep something like that on me. Sorry."

Shatner breaks out into hysterical laughter.

"What?" De snaps.

"Crucifix?"

"Yeah."

"What the hell for?"

"For protection against vampires, Bill! Haven't you ever seen any vampire movies? If you hold up a crucifix, the vampire doesn't like it."

"What happens? Do they just get mad at you? Run away?" Shatner says.

"Burns 'em I think. Makes 'em turn to dust or something. I dunno."

"Is that true, Bones?" Shatner asks. "I mean, I'm Jewish and so is Leonard...I mean Spock... but I'd wear one if it would protect me. Wish we would have thought of this earlier!"

"No, it's not true," McCoy replies. "Crucifixes or any other religious articles don't do anything for you. No protection whatsoever. It's only a myth."

Shatner snaps his fingers. "Damn. But they do like music. I wish one of us had a transistor radio."

"Evil vampires are very particular about the songs, however," McCoy replies. "Can't just play anything."

"The hymn: 'Rock of Ages' works as a deterrent," Spock says.

"Yeah, that's right, it did," De confirms. "I sung it at Gene Roddenberry. Or rather the evil vampire that looked like Gene." 

"It worked?" Shatner says.

"Indeed," Spock replies. "The song immoboilised Gene for mere seconds, buying De time, until he could utilize the wooden stake."

"You shoved that wooden fence into Gene! Way to go, De!" Shatner says with a chuckle. "You tiger you!"

"I didn't want to do it, Bill! I had to!" De shrieks out. "Stop making light of this! It was Gene Roddenberry!"

"Mr. Shatner, please! It's upsetting enough without you laughing at the seriousness of the situation!" McCoy huffs.

Shatner turns to Jimmy Doohan and grins. 

De and McCoy grumble under their breaths. Shatner shakes his head.

"Anyway," Spock says, to change the subject and hostile tone in the car. "Sing 'Rock of Ages' and that will help."

"Huh," Shatner says. "Well, keep that in mind, Jimmy, Billy, George. If you're trapped, sing 'Rock of Ages'. It'll stun the vampires for a few seconds until you can attack."

"I don't know the words," Billy Blackburn whines.

"You don't know the words to 'Rock of Ages'?" De says.

"Well, then, Billy, you deserve to die," Shatner says.

"Here Billy," De tells him. "I'll sing it to you. Just memorize the words: ' _Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee_ \--!"

"Holy Christ!" Shatner screeches out. "Your voice... sounds like fingernails on a blackboard!" 

"I'll have you know I sung in church choir in my youth! Smart ass! Now, shut up, BIll, so I can teach it to Billy for crying out loud!"

"Alright, De, calm down! I was only kidding."

"Dammit, where was I?"

"Start over again, De," Spock prompts. 

" _Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide--!_ "

There's a flutter in front of the car. De stops singing as he slams hard on his brakes. They lock up for a second but the Thunderbird stops because he's got 'Goodyear's on this baby. 

"Shit!" Shatner says as they all slide forward in the seat. McCoy lets out a whelp. 

"Oh my!" George says.

"Careful!" Jimmy Doohan says. 

"Goddammit, I almost hit a kid." De wips the sweat off his brow, his hands are trembling. Suddenly there is a horde of schoolchildren crossing the street, inches from the car. All of 'em are dressed in costumes, out trick or treating. Draculas, ghosts, witches, and more. They're clutching pillowcases and plastic jack o lanterns. He turns off the high beams.

One of the kids is sporting a 'Mr. Spock' costume. 

"Fascinating," Spock breathes out.

"Cute kid," Shatner says.

"Yeah, he'd just ran out in front of me," De says. "Lucky I could stop in time!" 

"Aren't they out kinda late?" Billy Blackburn asks. 

"Who?" Shatner says.

"The kids, Bill. The kids. It's almost midnight."

"Got to score that candy," George says. 

"Long past their bed time," Shatner replies. "Where are their parents? It's too dark out. There isn't even any moon tonight."

De leans over, looks out of the window. "That's strange. There should be a moon."

"How do you know, De?" 

"There was one, tonight, before."

"Was there?"

"Yeah, I'm sure of it."

"There isn't now."

"Maybe because of clouds," Billy says. 

"Clouds?" Jimmy Doohan replies. "Did the weatherman say it would be cloudy?"

"Gee, I dunno. Should be a damned moon out. Creepin' the fuck outta me." The intersection is clear of kids. The light turns green, he puts the brights back on, moves his foot to the gas pedal. As the car accelerates, he fumbles at his chest pocket for his pack of Marlboros, pulls out a cigarette. He notices Spock watching him. “Want one, Lenny? I mean...Spock.”

"Calm down, De. Don't be a scaredy cat," Shatner calls out. "I'm sure the moon's just hiding behind clouds."

"No clouds in the sky," George notes. "It is a clear night. Almost...too clear."

"Well, Spock?" De motions with the pack of Marboro's.

Spock meets De's eyes. “Vampires do not smoke."

"Don't they? Not at all?" De replies.

"No. However, I will have a mint, if you do not mind.”

De smirks. "Vampires can’t have cigarettes or food but they can eat mints. That must be the Leonard part of you. You know where they are. Right?"

Spock opens up the glove compartment. "I have not forgotten."

"Good." De pushes in the lighter, glances through the rear view mirror, eyes the others. 

“What happened to your windshield, De?” Shatner says. “It’s cracked.”

“Don’t ask.” The lighter pops out. De lights up the cigarette, then puts the lighter back in its place. 

“Must you smoke?” McCoy waves at the air, coughing. 

“Yes, I must, Doc. Especially at a time like this.”

"Can I bum a cig of ya, De?" Jimmy asks. 

De hands the pack over to Spock who passes it to Jimmy. "Don't get any lit ash on my seats, now, ya hear?" 

They finally reach Ventura Boulevard. De notices the gas gage is low. He pulls into the 'Casa de Petrol' gas station at the Casa Corner.

"De what are you doing?" Shatner asks.

"Need gas. I'm on empty, because somebody-- don't want to say their name but their initials are 'Dr. McCoy'-- didn't have the decency to fill up the tank when they 'borrowed my car'." De glares at McCoy.

"Fill her up?" a loud voice asks, through the open driver's side window. Everyone in the car jerks back in fright. All except Spock, who raises an eyebrow. 

"Yes," De says in a meek voice. "Please." He hands over his Mastercharge card.

"Very good, Sir." The attendant takes the card then goes about his business, putting the nozzle into the gas tank.

"Sorry," McCoy replies. "We don't have petroleum combustable engines in the 23rd century and I didn't think--"

"Clean your windows?" the attendant asks. 

De finds himself jumping out of his skin, again. "Uh. Yes please."

"For God's sake, De," Shatner huffs. "Time's a wasting."

"They're dirty, Bill!"

Shatner sighs.

"I don't suppose any of you guys are going to help me out with gas money, are ya?" De says.

Unsurprisingly, there's a chorus of 'no's in the car. "Sorry I'm broke," Shatner says. 

"We don't use money in our century," McCoy adds.

"Hmmm," De replies.

They watch the attendant in silence. He looks like an odd fellow. Hollowed out face. Almost immaciated body. Stark white hair under his hat. Seems nice enough, though. 

"De, isn't it strange that a gas station is open this late?" Jimmy asks.

"24 hour gas station." De points up at the sign. 

"Oh. Never heard of that."

"Been a new thing in the Valley. It sure is convenient."

"I'll say." 

The attendant appears at the window again to give De back his Mastercharge. "Thank you, come again," the attendant says. 

"Thank you." De pulls out of the gas station onto Ventura Boulevard. 

"That guy sure was creepy," Shatner muses. "Vampire?"

"No," McCoy says. 

"Oh," Shatner says, in a disappointed tone of voice.

As they head deeper into Sherman Oaks, Shatner notes: "The streets are deserted."

"Well, it is midnight," De replies. 

"The vampires have eaten all the inhabitants of the Valley," Shatner declares. "Except that gas station attendant and you, De. We're going to have to repopulate. Too bad we don't have any females in our party."

"Goddammit," De replies. "No, they haven't eaten everybody, Bill. That's ridiculous!"

"Is it? Then where are all the people? All the cars?"

"They're at home, in bed. Watching Johnny Carson, where I should be right now, instead of this fucking around at this ungodly hour."

"Midnight's ungodly?"

"Sure is! I must be crazy."

"We all must be crazy, De. We all must be."

Red up ahead at Van Nuys Boulevard. De stops for it. 

"Hey, De, you could keep going right through the intersection, ignore all the stop lights," Shatner says. "Since all the people are gone, eaten, you don't need to worry about t-boning anyone."

"Listen to this guy," De replies as the light turns green and he hits the gas. "Bones, tell 'em."

"The vampires haven't eaten all the people, Mr. Shatner," McCoy says. 

"Goddamn, you two sound exactly alike, bitching at me, I can't get over it. Like identical cousins. You could have your own show," Shatner replies. "Step on it, De! Put the pedal to the metal!" 

"I don't give a rats ass if we are the last people in the Valley, I'm not disobeying traffic laws!" De yells out. 

"You heard the man!" McCoy replies. 

"Like an echo!" Shatner says. 

"Give me my pack of cigs," De replies. Jimmy hands it back to De. He lights up another cigarette. Takes a long drag on it as he stops at another red at Kester Avenue. They're close. His heart is pounding.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a car pulls up next to the passenger side. De jumps at the noise. Spock glances over. There is a woman driving the other car. She stares at Spock.

"She recognizes me," Spock says. 

"There's somebody to repopulate the Valley with," Shatner says. "Unless she's a vampire!"

"No, she's not. She's definitely human."

"Oh goody!" Shatner says. "She's cute. And blonde. I have dibs!"

The woman rolls down her window. After a beat, Spock does the same. The woman does the Vulcan hand sign. Spock does it back to her. "Can you perform it with your other hand?" Spock calls out. 

The woman shakes her head. "I speak it with an accent." The light turns green and the woman zooms off. 

"After her!" Shatner demands. "Step on it, De!"

"No, no, no," De replies. "I'm not drag racing down Ventura!"

"You are no fun, you know that, Kelley?" Shatner says. "No fun at all. Like a fucking wet blanket."

"We are on a mission, Mr. Shatner. And that is not to repopulate the Valley," McCoy says.

Shatner pouts. "Says you."

"Maybe later." Jimmy Doohan waggles his eyebrows.

 

*

De turns right onto Sepulveda, then left into the driveway of the dead mall. Gravel crackles under the Thunderbird's tires. He pulls into the crumbling, deserted parking lot of the Galleria, parks it in a spot. The lines of parking spaces have mostly faded. There's weeds growing though the cracks in the broken down asphalt.

They all get out of the car. De pops open the trunk and they all pick up stakes. He takes one from McCoy. He slams the trunk, locks up the car and points an accusing finger at Shatner. “Bill. Anything happens to my Thunderbird, I’m holding you directly responsible!”

“Me? Why me?”

“Well it’s not like I can sue Dr. McCoy and Spock here, for damages, so you’re the last resort.”

“I didn’t cause this. Why not sue Billy? Or George or Jimmy?"

"You!"

Jimmy points overhead. "Oh my God. Look."

They look up. The moon is there after all. It is blood red. 

"Holy shit," Shatner says. "I've never seen the moon look like that. Ever. Looks like rotten meat. Doesn't it, Spock?"

"It is a lunar eclipse, occuring on average approximately every 30.37 years," Spock replies. 

"So it's not because the Galleria is inhabited by evil vampires," Shatner says.

"Negative. Tonight's eclipse is pure coincidence."

They amble across the parking lot. De hesitates as they draw closer to the entrance. 

“De, what's wrong?” Shatner says. 

“The Galleria. Feels evil. Holy hell. My heart is pounding. Why does it feel so horrible?"

"The Galleria is currently the most evil place in the Valley," McCoy says. "The center of the recent vampiric activity on Earth."

De looks at the wooden stake in his hands and scowls. “I dunno if I can do this."

“Mr. Kelley.” McCoy puts a hand on his shoulder. “Now that we're in Sherman Oaks, you should go home and stay there.”

“Come on, De. We need you,” Shatner says. “We have to kill some vampires in the Galleria. Don't go. Don't leave us to be eaten!”

“Well, gee I uh--”

“De,” Spock says. “Perhaps you should go home. We can take it from here.”

"But, you two, you can't kill your own kind. You need us humans to do the job. Bill's right, I can't walk out on you all. No. I'm in it for the long haul."

"You might be killed, De," Spock says.

"Chance I'll have to take."

Shatner hefts the stake in his hands. “I'm eager to get these bastards.”

"It's just that...." De says. "I really hate taking these people's lives. Even if they are evil vampires that want to destroy the Earth, eat all the humans, suck our blood, turn us into the undead. They're still people, deep down! I feel like a murderer."

"You are not a murderer," Spock says. "Vampires are already dead.”

“I know, but--they walk around. They talk. They move. They--"

“It is as if you stabbed a piece of mobile meat,” Spock replies.

“Only not as delicious,” Shatner adds. “And raw, not barbequed. But if you did barbeque them, it would probably smell really bad. Like a pile of month old diapers mixed in with huge bag of dead cats and some cilantro. Or maybe they'd smell good. I dunno, I'm kinda hungry right now. Maybe we can hit the 'In and Out burger' after this.”

“Bill, you’re not helping things,” McCoy tells him. "At all."

“No, it's fine.” Shatner pats De on the arm. “You’re fine with this, aren’t you, De.”

“I guess so. Let’s get inside, before I back out. Cilantro, Bill? Dead cats and diapers?”

"Yeah!"

McCoy takes hold of the door handle. "Ready, Gentlemen?"

"As we'll ever be," De replies.

A large black bat suddenly swoops and flies past them, low, close to their heads. They duck to avoid it. The creature disappears through a broken window. “They know we are here,” Spock says.

"No element of surprise?" George whispers. 

"None."

"It's all De's fault," Shatner says.

"Why's it my fault?"

"You parked too damn close. Shoulda parked at your house around the corner and then we could have walked back."

"Be quiet!" De snaps. "Think I want these jokers to know where I live?"

"Shhh!" Billy says.

"How many are there inside?" Jimmy asks.

"A coven," Spock whispers dramatically. "At least one hundred, possibly more."

"One hundred evil vampires?! In there?" De says. "Are you serious? We're walking into an ambush, aren't we."

"Holy crap," George says.

"We're fucked," Jimmy Doohan hisses.

"Indeed."

_____________________  
on to the next chapter....


End file.
